Season of the Witch
by AlyshebaFan2
Summary: Is she as crazy as Murdock?  Or does madness just come in a different kind of package?  Not even the author knows for sure just yet!
1. Season of the Witch

**Season of the Witch**

_You've got to pick up every stitch_

~Donovan

I'm not even sure if folks will like this one. At this point, I'm just futzing around with the OC and writing it as I go, instead of making a Grand Plan.

Be aware that I know virtually nothing about the Army or military matters. Those good people guard my freedom to even write this crap and God bless 'em all. Beyond that - please excuse any inaccuracies and stupidity on my part and suspend reality for a bit.

So...we'll see how it goes, eh?

* * *

SOMEWHERE IN IRAQ, 2008

Lieutenant Maddie Morgan twirled the tiny yellow flower between her fingers, barely even hearing the _thump-thump-thump_ of the helicopter blades as her own thoughts whirled. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and glanced at the pilot, who was asking for clearance below. Sand was _everywhere_, of course – flying around them, and getting into the chopper itself - and her nose, her mouth, her hair - as it slowly descended to the circle. The pilot settled the Apache down and she breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the flower and watching it disappear into the whirl of dust and sand.

"Here we are, Lieutenant. Camp Hooyah."

"What?" she yelled, not sure she had heard him correctly.

"Hooyah, ma'am. The really tough hombres are here. CO's Colonel Smith. Be sure and duck when you're gettin' out! Don't worry – they're tough guys, but they're gentlemen…kinda…" She thought she heard him say something about watching out for a peck and a crazy man, but his words were whipped away by the wind.

She grabbed her duffel bag and threw it out the door, as far as she could, and was glad there was nothing in there that was breakable. Carefully, she stepped out of the chopper, bent low and dashed across the line and away from the blades. The chopper lifted off almost before she was three feet away, heading back toward Bagdad. She sighed, and immediately realized she had made a mistake doing that – she inhaled a cloud of whirling dust and started coughing.

The camp was actually called Switchblade, according to the orders she had received. She waited until the dust cleared a little before she dug them out of her bag and read them over. Yes, _Switchblade_. She was supposed to stay here and help Special Forces make final plans for an attack ('Strategic Raid') on a small but deadly group of insurgents. Her main job, of course, was to assist with logistics and make sure the choppers were in good shape for the mission and that supplies were all in order.

Still, she wondered why they called it Hooyah. Maddie threw her dufflebag over her shoulder, hefted it a couple of times, and trotted down the hill toward the collection of tents and makeshift buildings that consisted of her living space for the next God only knew how many days. She wasn't even sure if she had a tent ready, or even a _bed_. She could only pray it was a few feet off the ground, because one more encounter with a sand spider and she'd end up having a nervous breakdown.

"Fresh meat!" she heard someone say, and a chill of fear went down her spine. Those words weren't cheery ones to hear as the only woman heading into a camp full of men who hadn't seen one in a while. But then she caught the distinctive smell of barbecue being grilled. _Texas_ barbecue, to be exact - as if there was any other kind - and forgot all about being scared. She shaded her eyes and looked around until she saw the source of the delicious scent – a bonafide grill had been set up, right at the end of a series of rough, sand-colored camouflage tents, and at the grill stood a lean, rangy-looking man wearing cut-off Army fatigue pants, an open Hawaiian shirt over a T-shirt that read "Duck Shoe" (with a cartoon image of a pissed-off-looking duck in high heel shoes) and high-top Converse tennis shoes.

What, they imported some version of Bobby Flay to Iraq, she wondered as she continued down the hill. She cautiously approached the grill, to get a better look at the man and the fresh meat he was apparently slow-cooking. He had turned away from her, and she noted wide shoulders and dark, rather shaggy hair under a red baseball cap. Another man was talking to him, placing an order for ribs.

"Ain't got no damn' ribs," the grillmaster informed the soldier. "You want ribs, go to Belton, Texas, or try Kirby's in Mexia. All I got is brisket and goat." He turned away and opened up a piece of foil, revealing a succulent slab of beef brisket that looked pretty well done, but apparently not to his liking, because he closed it again.

"Well, maybe you have goat ribs?" the soldier asked him.

"Maybe. _Asador bebé cabra es bueno tan largo como usted hacer desconocer el cabra personalmente_."

"Eh?"

"Never mind. Come back in an hour or so. I'll see what I got."

Maddie moved into his line of vision, and was startled by a pair of sharp green eyes. He studied her with almost cold interest, then smacked his spatula on the grill, killing a fly. "Well, well…fresh meat indeed."

"I'm Lieutenant Maddie Morgan," she told him. "Logistics."

"Yeah, yeah…I heard about you." He scraped the dead fly off the grill and threw it into the fire. She winced, which seemed to amuse him. "You're here to see 'bout the choppers an' ammo."

She nodded. "Shouldn't you be in…I don't know…Army-issue fatigues?"

"Nobody tells me what to wear. Not even the damn' Army." He seemed vaguely annoyed by her statement, and his expression hardened slightly. "And I don't take orders from nobody, 'cept my CO."

"Well, I happen to be a Lieutenant and I can say…"

"And I happen to be a Captain," he nodded, cutting her off and grinning at her for the first time. "Went to officer training and ever'thing, right outta college. And don't go salutin' me, either. Those little warts runnin' around in these hills'd love to cap an officer. Lookin' for Hannibal?"

"Who?" she asked, bewildered. She was having trouble believing that this scruffy, unkempt man was an _officer_. He hardly looked like what the Army was looking for. In fact, he didn't look like anything a barbecue joint was looking for.

"Colonel Smith. Hannibal…John Smith," he said, shaking his head. "You sound like you're from Texas – lemme guess…central Texas? North central – north of Austin…above the Highland lakes, too, right? Got a definite twang in your drawl, and it's not Houston or West Texas, and it's not East Texas. Yeah, central Texas, for sure."

She narrowed her eyes, wondering how he could place her accent so easily. "Morgansville."

"Oh, you're a Morgan of Morgansville?" he grinned, really amused now. "Got a county, a town and a lake named after your family. Good for y'all!" There was a trace of mockery in his voice that made her bristle.

"Yes, and I happen to be very proud of my family,_ thank you_, Captain…?"

"Murdock. James Murdock. Most folks just call me H.M., though." He checked the foil-wrapped brisket and removed it from the grill, satisfied that it was ready at last. "That's Murdock with a 'c' and a 'k', not 'c' and 'h', by the way. If it was 'c' an' 'h', I'd be kin to Rupert and I wouldn't be here in God's wash'n'dry, grilling brisket, that's for _damn_ sure."

"What's that stand for? Helluva Mess?" she said, narrowing her eyes, deciding that she really didn't like this man at all, even if he was obviously a fellow Texan.

"Howling Mad," he said, smiling again, and Maddie batted away the thought that he did have a nice smile, and that his eyes were a really very beautiful shade of green. She had plenty of experience with men who had nice smiles and pretty eyes – they were a dime a dozen. "Though 'Helluva Mess' suits me pretty, well, and I'm sure lotsa folks 'round here would agree. What's Maddie short for?"

"None of your business, _Captain_," she said, saluting him sharply and stalking away. She heard his spatula smack the grill again, but didn't turn around to see his disgruntled expression. She asked another soldier for directions, and the tall, blond, blue-eyed man eagerly offered to escort her to the CO's hooch.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked as they walked down the center lane, passing a sign with various city names printed on pieces of wood, pointed in opposite directions. One of the pieces of wood read 'Oatmeal, Texas: 7168 miles', and pointed west.

"Lieutenant Morgan," she answered.

"Lieutenant Peck," he introduced himself with a pearly-white grin. "Welcome to Camp Hooyah."

"I believe it's actually called Switchblade, isn't that correct?" she asked him, as they stopped in front of Smith's tent.

"Well, yeah, but Murdock got into a tussle with a Marine shortly after we got here, and when he finally had the bastard pinned down, instead of making him yell 'Uncle', he made him yell 'Hooyah' instead, and it kind of…stuck."

Peck shook his head, laughing, and nodded toward the Captain at the grill, who was now carrying on an arm-waving argument with another soldier who had had the gall to order _North Carolina-style _ barbecue. She heard Murdock shouting "What kind of uncouth, ill-bred savage puts cole slaw on barbecue? Huh? That's an affront to nature and to nature's God, young man! It says so in the Bible! Look it up – Book of Fannie Farmer, chapter three, verse seven – Thou shalt not put cole slaw on barbecue, as it is an abomination! Now get thee hence to the Devil before I throw you into the _latrine_, you tar-covered North Carolina twit!"

"Sorry…'scuse me," Peck told her, grinning. "Gotta go calm Murdock down, 'fore he tears that kid's head off. Musta forgot to warn him…" The lieutenant trotted away, toward the grill, and Maddie knocked on the wooden frame of the tent's makeshift door. A moment later, Colonel Smith answered.

She saluted sharply, and Smith gave her an exasperated look. "Haven't you learned to not salute officers this far in country?" he snapped at her.

She sighed. This was going to be a rough God only knew how many days.


	2. Chaffy and the Girls

Season of the Witch

Chapter 2

I do not own the A-Team. Several wealthy people do.

Hopefully, I got some of the chopper stuff right this time 'round...I had intended to do that with the first chapter but it slipped my mind before I got it posted.

I'm still not totally sure of where this is going. It'll either take me somewhere or I'll have hit a dry hole. We'll see. :)

* * *

Maddie had been assigned a tent not far from the grill, and as a result, she could smell cabrito and brisket being slow-cooked – that had to be counted as a plus. Still, she grumbled to herself as she unpacked her meager belongings and began setting up a hammock-cot. A footlocker had also been given to her, and she had stacked her T-shirts, pants and unwear into it, and carefully lined up her boots on top. Her dress uniform was back in Bagdad – she had no use for it out here, that was for sure.

Since her horrifying encounters with camel spiders – they looked like a nightmarish cross between a spider and a scorpion, like something out of a _Star Wars _movie – she was determined to make sure that her bed was far above the ground. Over the past two years she had developed a method of creating a sturdy bed from a hammock her mother had sent her from Texas. It only required two strong poles and careful measurements, and _voila_, she had a safe place to sleep, like a butterfly in a cocoon. It had taken two young grunts to get the tent set up – Colonel Smith had insisted they assist her – and she had specified how far apart the poles had to be, using a tape measure to mark the spots while the soldiers looked on, amused. But after the required amount of pushing and pulling and tying innumerable knots, the hammock was set up and she carefully climbed in. A little bit of swinging, some careful balancing, and soon she settled back, allowing herself to relax at last. It was almost supper time, and she wondered if Captain Murdock would let her have any brisket.

They hadn't exactly got off on the right foot. Usually, her manners were much better, but he had rankled her nerves a bit. The last man who had gotten on her nerves had been back in Morgansville, and she had punched him in the face. Of course, that man had also been a United States senator and his son had just left her at the altar to run off with another woman, leaving her a pathetic letter full of measly excuses. Even more, her father was stuck with a seven-thousand-dollar debt to pay off for the damned wedding and clearing up the mess after the melee that had occurred afterward. The police sure hadn't been amused to come across a bleeding Senator ("By nobe ib bwokeb!"), her mother and the Senator's wife wrestling in the wedding cake and the wedding coordinator telling Maddie that husbands come and go, but a Neiman-Marcus card lasts forever. Not that Maddie had either _now_.

She felt the all-too-familiar anger and humiliation build up in her chest again, and she determinedly pushed it away. Her personal life had nothing to do with her mission here, or her service to her country, and the reason she had joined the Army in the first place was to get _away_ from her personal life. That day, she had lost control, and one thing Maddie had always possessed was total control over her life – maybe not her surroundings, but definitely her _life_. It had been an earth-shattering experience, to suddenly find herself in a situation like that, where her life had spiraled so totally _out_ of control. If the Army was about one thing, it was about _control_.

_Not_ that she was running away from anything. No, she told herself firmly. She had just gotten tired of all the publicity and the constant questions, and the way people looked at her back home, as if she were to be pitied. Considering what she had learned about Ellis, a few weeks after the non-wedding, she could have given them all an earful, but she had walked into the recruitment office in Austin instead, and that was that...

There was a knock at the woodframe of her tent, and she sat up, forgetting to balance herself properly. So naturally, she was flipped to the floor and landed on her face, but at last she didn't end up on the footlocker – just the hard-packed sand under the tarp. Grumbling, she got to her feet and opened the door. Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck were standing there. "Oh. Yes. Uh…what?"

"Can we come in?" Sand was blowing everywhere outside, and she stepped back to let the two men in. Smith surveyed her quarters for a moment, noting her hammock, and Peck looked amused.

"I just thought we'd go over a preliminary plan first," Smith told her, finally turning to face her. "Face, give her the specs."

She looked at Peck – Face? – and he handed her a sheaf of papers. She perused them silently, surprised by the meticulous planning that had gone into it. She sat down and the other men sat opposite her, pulling up her footlocker and her only other canvas chair (with the University of Texas Longhorns logo) as they spelled out what was to be done. She would only need to check the choppers tonight and see that all the required ammo were in order, and of course that medical supplies were also ready. "Murdock'll be flying the Apache, of course, and Fuller will be at the yoke of the MEDEVAC backing us up, and we have a Chinook transporting. This is a hit'n'run-type mission – we separate them from each other, cut them off, and kill 'em…"

"Murdock?" she asked, looking up.

"Yeah. Captain Murdock," Peck nodded.

"The guy at the _grill_?"

"Yeah. That's him. Hey, don't worry. He's just been kinda grouchy these past coupla days – he is otherwise the best damned pilot you'll ever come across. Fuller's the big question – he's never been in on a mission like this, so Murdock's been tryin' to train him a bit." Peck grinned, looking amused. "From what we've heard, Fuller swears he's goin' back to Bagdad as soon as he can."

"I can imagine," she said, looking back at the map Smith proffered. "I'll be at the field before dawn, to look the choppers over. Who works on them?"

"Sergeant Baracus and Murdock," Smith nodded. "Baracus repairs whatever he can with what he has at hand, and Murdock handles the rest. Unless B.A. kills him, that is."

"B.A.?"

"Sergeant B.A. Baracus. Big dude. Mohawk. Looks mean, but he's a pussycat if you feed him well. And that's all for now. You have the rest of the details already, correct?" Smith asked.

"Yes. I've been going over casualty projections…"

"What's the point of that?" Smith asked her. "That's like setting up the divorce papers before you even say the vows."

"I think that's called a prenup, Colonel," Peck pointed out with a laugh. Smith only rolled his eyes.

"No use thinking about how many will die before the battle, Lieutenant. This is a fast operation, and we're not putting any more men on the ground than will be entirely necessary, and as long as I'm in charge of things, the only lives that will be lost will the terrorists we're going after. We have plenty of good backup with Murdock at the yoke of the Apache, and if anything gets out of hand, the Chinook will have us out in no time. The pilot's almost as good as Murdock."

"_Almost_," Peck nodded.

"You mean 'insurgents'," she said, making sure to use the acceptable term.

"Yeah…whatever," Smith stood and shook her hand. "I hope you're comfortable here…?"

"Oh. Well, yes. Sort of." She glanced at her hammock. Peck was giving her another long, speculative look and she stood up, saluting Smith, who shook his head before saluting back. He left, but Peck stayed behind.

"A hammock, huh? You're only the second person out here to come up with that idea – it took Murdock less than an hour to decide he didn't want to sleep in a cot just a foot above the ground, and then he set hammocks up for me and Colonel Smith, too – B.A. would have none of it." He swung the cot from side to side. "Of course, Murdock has a phobia about spiders…particularly camel spiders."

"I'm not phobic about them, but I don't like them. And this Murdock…is he as competent as Colonel Smith says?"

"Well…yeah." Face looked at her, apparently confused. "Hannibal would never put the lives of fifteen good men in the hands of anybody else. How 'bout this – if we all come back safe and sound, I'll buy you a drink?" He grinned at her, and she couldn't keep from smiling back.

"Fine. It's a deal." He shook her hand, gave her a courtly bow instead of a standard salute, and left. She climbed back into her cot, swung a few times, and settled back for a brief rest. She wanted to read over the plans again before bedtime, and would make a _surprise_ inspection on the choppers before Murdock and Baracus were ready.

* * *

"Listen here, you crazy fool!" B.A. yelled at Murdock. "You stop playin' around up there right now and I won't tear off your arms and beat you to death with 'em!"

Captain Murdock was perched on top of the Apache, swinging his legs and apparently just fooling around, but Maddie immediately recognized that he was testing the rotor, seeing to it that no sand or other debris had gotten in there. She watched him blow away anything that looked suspicious, and gasped when he leapt down from the top and landed easily on his sneakered feet. "Calm down, Bosco. She's in perfect workin' order."

Baracus – who was indeed quite large and intimidating, but Maddie knew guys like that back home: be sweet to them, and they'd do anything for you – looked cautiously at the tall, lean man bouncing on his feet and frowned. "You sure 'bout that, man?"

"Yeah, she's good. She's been around the block more times than the Good Humor man, but everything sounds good. That poppin' in the engine is gone, and the rotors are as clean as the Pope's sheets. Good work, man. Wanna go up in her with me tomorrow?"

"Hell no!" Baracus growled. "How many times I gotta tell you, fool? I ain't ever flyin' with you again!"

"Yeah, yeah…I can't believe you'd rather ride with Fuller. He's just a kid – a big dumb kid from Arkansas, no less." Murdock turned away from Baracus and caught Maddie watching them. "Oh, lookee! It's Lieutenant Morgan, from Morgansville, on the shores of Lake Morgan, of Morgan County, Texas. Gee, if y'all had worked at it, Texas might be called the Great State of Morgan."

"We tried, but folks from Oatmeal just couldn't spell it right," she answered sweetly.

"Oh!" Murdock clutched his chest, gasping, with a horrified look on his face. "She got me, B.A.! A zinger! You're killin' me, baby! Killin' me, with your rapier wit!" He rolled the 'r' dramatically, like a bad Shakespearean actor.

"If only," Baracus rolled his eyes.

"She won't tell us her name. Maddie ain't a proper name, after all," Murdock said. "Is it short for Matilda? Madeleine? Madison?"

"I understand the choppers are in good order?" she asked B.A., ignoring Murdock, who looked affronted.

"Feel free to inspect them, ma'am," Baracus said, opening the door of the Apache and gesturing for her to climb in. "We've cleaned 'em top to bottom. Above and beyond standard, too, in operation."

She peered at the controls, then ordered the two men to get clear. She started up the engine, listening for any unsettling sounds, and was satisfied that everything did sound right. She shut everything down and climbed out. "And the MEDEVAC?"

"Over yonder," Murdock pointed across the way, to the converted transport chopper, an MI-8 that had been painted a kind of sickening pea-green and emblazoned with a Red Cross, indicating its actual purpose – it was clearly not battle ready any more. She remembered the Apache she had ridden in on – it had been on its way back from a repair, and she had been a last-minute passenger, and its route back home had only required a five-mile detour. She had been glad the pilot had known what he was doing, as the machine had sounded kind of unhappy. "We finished her off last night. Clean as a whistle, too, and makin' cheerful noises."

She trotted across the field to the other chopper and climbed in. The back of the chopper had been emptied out of seats and replaced with two grounded cots and various boxes of well-stocked kits, along with metal basins, surgical supplies, and a box of bandages. Whoever had set it up was forward thinking, and she glanced up to see Captain Murdock leaning into the chopper, eyeing her. "Fuller an' I set it up, for the worst injuries. Rolled bandages all night – I felt like Florence Nightingale, but we go in ready, that's for sure. We've even got antivenom, just in case, and plasma's ready back here at Hooyah."

"Who set that up?" she asked him.

"I did. Hey, I may be crazy, but I ain't stupid, lady. When I'm flyin' 'em in, I fly 'em out, and I get 'em back alive. Maybe not in the best shape, but alive and able to sit up and take nourishment the next day." He pointed to the Chinook next to them. "That's the transport chopper. Leatherwood's flyin' it in and flyin' it out. He's as steady as an old lady's huntin' hack."

"Leatherwood?" she asked, jumping down and making her way to the huge chopper. She looked up at it, admiring its ugliness. Chinooks weren't made to be pretty – they were made to get men from point A to point B alive, and to defend them if and when necessary. Frankly, they were her favorite brand of chopper.

"Good guy – he's from Texas, too. Too calm for my liking, but calm's what you need for troop transport."

"And they're just sending in one Apache for this mission?"

"I'm doin' the rat-a-tattin'," he nodded. He patted the Chinook affectionately. "One's enough, I think. This baby is called Chaffy – you know…it's a CH-47D, but I hate those kinds of monikers. So impersonal. She can carry up to fifty-five soldiers. Leatherwood'd better take good care of 'er, or I'll have his head on a platter."

"_Chaffy_?" Maddie raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Apache over there is called Paca. MEDEVAC is called Florence."

"Chaffy…Paca…and Florence…"

"Yeah, why not? I always give 'em names. Makes 'em happier."

"Captain Murdock, they're machines…" she pointed out weakly, even though she actually could see his point.

"Don't say that so loud! You'll hurt their feelings!" he whispered. She stared at him, finally closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it, and climbed in. The Chinook was fitted with seats for the fifteen men to be transported to the strike zone, and had plenty of room left over for any wounded. More medical kits were arranged carefully toward the back. She nonetheless performed a thorough inspection of Chaffy and found her to be in equally excellent order. After going over the final checklist, she climbed out and dropped to her feet, coughing as sand and dust fogged up around her.

"I see the guns are fully loaded," she nodded.

"Yep. Leatherwood's a damn good shot, too. He won prizes for marksmanship, back in Texas. Me, I'm only fair-to-middlin'. I never got many doves, back home, but I got turkeys galore. Even got a yellow dog Democrat once, but we'll not get into that, and charges were dropped. How 'bout you? Do much huntin'?"

"I'm afraid not, Captain." She turned back to look at Baracus, who was coming toward them, wiping his hands with a dirty towel. "Everything looks fine, Sergeant. Chaffy…Paca, and Florence are battle-ready."

"Did that crazy fool tell you their names?" Baracus looked aghast, and Murdock started laughing. "What the hell did you do that for? They're _choppers_, dammit! Choppers! Flown by crazy fools like you!"

"That's like sayin' the Mona Lisa is a just a collection of oil-based paints of various colors applied to a piece of wood, _Sergeant_," Murdock snapped back, hackles up. "Granted, I have seen the Mona Lisa in person, and can say that I have dish towels bigger'n that thing, and perhaps the price of getting into the Louvre rather failed to counter the disappointment and lousy meal, but nonetheless, these ladies are each a piece of aeronautical _art_ and I will not have their good names besmirched! Be gone, I say!" He waved his arm angrily at Baracus, who growled at him and stalked away.

"He just doesn't understand," Murdock shook his head sadly at Baracus' retreating form. He stood for a moment, his expression a mixture of sadness and frustration, and suddenly he turned to her. "Can you fly?"

"Yes, I can," she nodded. "Not extremely well, I admit…but I can handle a chopper when necessary, and most types of planes..,"

"What about when it's not necessary? What if it's just 'cause you love it? 'Cause you love the thrill of it – that it's like great sex? The preflight, of course, and then the thrust of the engines, and liftoff, and the slow rise to the point of no return and…" He stopped, eyes widening. Maddie stared up at him, just as startled. She backed up, realizing she was standing a little too close to him. A pair of beautiful green eyes, she thought, and looked everywhere but at him.

"Right," she nodded. "Well. I'm pleased to say that everything is in excellent shape. I'll just go check out the supplies and ammo and…uh…"

"Right, right. This was a surprise inspection, huh?" he nodded.

"Yes. It was." She still avoided his gaze. _It still stings a little_.

"Good. I love surprises! I think I'll go surprise B.A.! See ya later, baby. Are you ever gonna tell me what Maddie is short for?"

"I can't imagine that happening any time soon, Captain." She started to salute him, but decided against it. The little warts might be around, and somehow the idea of a world without Captain James Murdock in it was unthinkable. Instead, she nodded and walked away, toward Camp Hooyah and what she hoped would be good coffee and some eggs.


	3. Cow Creek

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 3

* * *

The mission had gone extremely well – at least, that was the impression Maddie got as she watched two choppers fly over the ridge toward the camp. She shaded her eyes against the dawn sunlight and hoped everyone had indeed come out in good order. She held her breath, watching the Chinook and the MEDEVAC land, and waited nervously for the Apache to do the same.

At last she caught sight of it, but she knew something wasn't right - the chopper wavered in the air, bobbing from side to side and flying rather low to the ground. She looked back at the group of soldiers coming up the hill from the camp, running toward the Apache. "Murdock's injured," one of them told her, almost in passing. "Minor wound…damn…" He didn't seem like he thought it was minor, from the look on his face, and she started running after them.

By the time they all reached the strip, the Apache was finally down, the rotors still spinning. One of the soldiers yanked the door open and she watched in horror as Captain Murdock fell out, bleeding from the side of his head. "Where the hell is Fuller?" she heard Colonel Smith yell as he climbed out of the Chinook and ran toward the Apache.

"Back in the MEDEVAC," someone else answered. "We got two minor injuries in the Chinook. Murdock took some shrapnel – he's bleedin' bad."

Two soldiers were dragging Murdock away from the chopper, and she could see that the Apache had been damaged – several bullet holes riddled its side. As she got closer, she could see that the shrapnel had not actually penetrated Murdock's skull – obviously, if it had, he wouldn't have been in any condition to fly. She swallowed, fighting away her own revulsion at the sight of blood, and dropped down beside the wounded pilot, who was being tended by two medics.

"And he flew back here like this?" another soldier shouted over the noise of the two other two choppers. She saw Lieutenant Peck drop to his knees beside Murdock.

"Hey, bud, look at me, huh? Come on, man…look at me!"

"'m'okay…" she heard Murdock say weakly, his eyes opening briefly before squeezing shut again. "Just kinda dizzy. I think I took a knock in the noggin…my head is all wet…"

Peck looked up at her, and she saw real fear in his eyes, and he looked back at Murdock. "Right. Just a little…er…wet. Can you see me?"

"Sure. I saw you. And I smell ya, too. Good God, ever heard of mouthwash? You could drop a camel!"

Peck started laughing and sat back on his knees. He waved toward Smith, who was trotting toward the MEDEVAC. "Colonel…hey…he's okay…more or less. Fuller! Get your ass over here and explain how you'd let him fly out again?" Fuller, climbing out of the MEDEVAC, looked pensive and pulled his helmet off, preparing himself for a major bawling out from his superiors.

"Stop yellin'…" Murdock said. "Kid did okay, for a damn Razorback. And I could fly back an' forth six times again today if you wanted me to…" His legs twitched and he winced painfully. "My head hurts…oh, look…it's Lieutenant Morgan of the Morgans of Morgansville, Morgan County…"

"Be quiet, Captain. You can insult me later," she told him, as a medic applied a bandage to Murdock's wound, and she winced as the cloth was soon completely blood-soaked. She knew headwounds bled a _lot_, but it was still scary to look at. "Who _is_ this man?" she asked Peck.

"Nobody has quite figured that one out."

* * *

It seemed like every few minutes, another person was going into the tent to visit Murdock. He was the only patient in there, being the only serious casualty of the entire otherwise brilliantly successful mission – the other two soldiers had only suffered minor cuts and scrapes. All twenty of the insurgents were either dead or captured, and their basecamp had been completely destroyed after a thorough search by Smith and his team. She read the official report that night, marveling at the meticulous planning that had gone into it.

Her curiosity was getting the better of her by now. Sitting outside her tent, enjoying the evening breeze, she watched as virtually every soldier in the camp walked down to the tent to check on 'that crazy pilot'. He was apparently a popular fellow, and the more she thought about it, she could see why. He was the grillmaster, after all, and any soldier preferred good roasted beef over MRE's. Besides, he appeared to have a congenial personality – weird, but outgoing and friendly toward everyone, regardless of their rank, so long as they didn't ask for North Carolina barbecue.

It was getting to the point now that she couldn't bear not paying at least a polite visit. She was new in town, yes, but she had had two conversations with him and she supposed he wouldn't throw her out of the tent, anyway.

Getting up, she dusted herself off and walked toward the tent, and stepped back in alarm when Baracus and Peck came out, bickering. "…tackled that little wart yourself, B.A. Don't deny it – you'd charge a machine gun mount for ol' H.M. back there."

"I ain't sayin' nothin', and don't you say nothin' like that 'round him." The two men stopped when they saw her. Peck grinned. "He's asleep. Finally."

"Yeah, but he'll be awake soon enough. Screamin' bloody murder, most likely." B.A. didn't look amused, though. He looked more angry than anything else, which intrigued her. Maddie nodded to them and stepped away.

Peck regarded Maddie for a moment. "But you can go see him if you like. Just don't touch him – he gets a little…freaked out if you touch him."

The two men left her standing by the door, and she finally screwed up her courage and went in.

Captain Murdock was indeed asleep on hospital bed, connected to an IV, but he was twitching and making frightened sounds. She moved to his side and looked down at him, wondering what she ought to do. Finally, she touched his cheek. "Shh…it's all right. The monster's are gone. You're safe."

"Monsters…" he whispered in his sleep, settling down. "All gone…?"

"Yes. They're gone. It's all right now. Go to some place peaceful, okay? Go to…go to Cow Creek. Remember that road? I know you know it – you're from around there, right? Remember how pretty it is there, in the springtime? The bluebonnets are bloomin' – big puddles and ponds and lakes of 'em, and so sweet-smelling, and the paintbrush and the Indian blankets and sweetwilliams are blooming, too, and the peach trees…and remember the swallows out there? See 'em wheeling in the sky? And the sky…it's that shade of blue you can only find in the Hill Country, with not a cloud in sight. The weather's cool and the creek is high and clear and cold…"

Captain Murdock seemed to sink into a deep, quiet sleep and she stood for several moments, watching him. He had high cheekbones, and a sensitive mouth. She refrained from attempting to define the color of his eyes, comparing them to something like them, like an interior designer, but they were an unusual shade of green, she had to admit. The doctor who had treated his injury had cut his hair away, so that his shaggy look was replaced by what looked like a rough buzzcut, and it wasn't exactly a good look for him – it made him look vaguely like Gerard Butler.

"Lieutenant Morgan?"

She turned around and swallowed when she saw Colonel Smith in the doorway. She flushed and removed her fingers from Murdock's cheek. "Oh. I was just…checking on…Captain Murdock."

"Right. But I sense you won't want to be on the watch tonight."

"The watch?" She looked back at the Captain, who as still sleeping, breathing slow and steady.

"He's been agitated the past few days, and he'll be bad tonight. Nightmares and night terrors – we sit up with him on those nights. Hold him down when necessary, and since he's injured, the doctor has some stuff ready for him, so he won't do any more damage to himself."

"What's the matter with him?"

"Post traumatic stress, mainly, and some other…er…issues. We don't really know all that happened to him." Smith nodded. "But I wouldn't fly with anybody else. He really is _seriously_ the best pilot alive."

"Sergeant Baracus appears to disagree with that notion," she said, stepping away from Murdock's side.

"Yeah, well…B.A. and Murdock have a rather…er…checkered history," Smith laughed. "But he and Baracus and Peck are my team – the best of the best. You know how it goes, Lieutenant. We look out for each other."

She nodded, could find nothing more to say, and so she left. Smith sat down on a stool by Murdock's bed, and she glanced back to see him extract a book from his pocket. "_The Great Gatsby_, Captain. I can't believe you're reading this," she heard the Colonel say. "But then, at least it's not in German." He opened the book and began reading aloud.

* * *

Boys will be boys, she thought. That was what she would tell Colonel Smith when he came through for weekly inspection.

The boys – whoever they were – had stolen her clothes from her footlocker. A good wash in hot water had shrunk _everything_, so that all her clothes were at least a size too small. She was already a slender woman, but dropping from size six to size five was hard for even the most obsessive dieter, and she was _not_ a dieter. But since she couldn't go out there in nothing at all (her underwear was _missing_ entirely, and considering how long most of these men had been without female company, she doubted she'd see her skivvies again any time soon), she fought her way into her fatigues, managed to get the buttons of her shirt done up, and went out into the yard.

Fifty-three men were lined up in rows, and she caught the collective glint in their eyes. She took her place with the officers, and could have sworn she saw Peck smirk. Lieutenant Leatherwood – a tall, rawboned and congenial man who looked a lot like a youthful Lyndon Baines Johnson, only with morals – took a brief glance at her chest, pinked, and looked up again. She stood at perfect attention, refusing to be embarrassed. She had six older brothers. Stupid was a part of her daily life back in Morgansville.

Colonel Smith, looking bored with this whole ridiculous ritual, came bustling out of his hooch. His annoyance faded when he saw her, and he stared for several moments. Obviously, he was a breast man, and not asexual, as she had heard a few of the men say. Still, he showed great decency by looking away. "Well, boys. I'm glad you found some form of entertainment, but really…this is _very_ inappropriate."

The soldiers maintained perfectly straight faces, standing at attention and not moving a muscle, but she knew they were practically busting their guts inside. She glanced up the line and was surprised to see Captain Murdock also standing at attention, but he was wearing cargo pants, a T-shirt that read 'Oatmeal Festival, 2007' and featured a donkey eating oats from Quaker Oats can, and a red Hawaiian shirt. His Airborne Rangers ballcap was pulled low over his eyes, so she couldn't tell how well his wound had healed. In fact, she hadn't seen him in almost a week. The grill had also been off, so there had been no delicious scents to savor in the evenings.

"All right, boys. Whoever pulled this prank – however gratifying it might have been – will report to my tent with a list of reasons for such appalling behavior toward a woman and an officer in the United States Army. Mind you, I want reasons – not excuses."

Sounds like my mother, Maddie thought, remaining at attention, knowing that if she continued to stand so straight one of the buttons on her chest was going to fly off and put out somebody's eye.

"Fall out!" Smith yelled, and all fifty-three enlisted men dashed away. Smith shook his head, and lit a cigar. He went to Murdock and the two men spoke briefly before the Captain started toward the medical tent, and she noted that he was dragging just a bit, clearly very tired. Maddie considering going after him, to ask him how he was doing, but Smith waylaid her.

"I apologize for my…appearance, sir," she told him.

Smith's gaze dropped to her chest again, but only for a moment. Maddie was not a feminist – she understood male human behavior, and didn't hold their natural inclinations against them – it wasn't as though she didn't appreciate beefcake herself. Still, she had to clear her throat to get him to look at her face again. He looked properly embarrassed. "It's not your fault, Lieutenant. I'll put some new clothes on order for you, of course."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

"My team and I are leaving tomorrow. Off to another part of this God-forsaken country."

"Oh. I see."

"Colonel Dawkins will be replacing me, and Major Eddersley. I'm sure you'll get along very well with them. Colonel Dawkins is a good man, and Eddersley is an old colleague of mine. A bit OCD about regulation, but I think you'll manage."

"Uh…how is Captain Murdock doing?" she asked.

"He's actually doing a lot better than even the doctor expected. Wound is healing very well…you can ask him yourself…" He gestured toward Murdock, who was walking toward them. He did indeed look weary, and when he removed his cap, she saw the bandage still covering the wound above his right eye.

"Captain…" she said, nodding. "How are you? I understand you and the Alpha Team are leaving tomorrow…"

"I'm all right, I reckon. Not the first head wound I've had, and not the last, I'll bet. And yeah, we're headin' to some other wart-infested corner of God's wash'n'dry," he nodded. His green eyes didn't drop to her chest at all. In fact, he seemed to be looking at her right ear. "I kinda doubt we'll ever see each oth-…er…we'll probably never cross paths again. _Ma'a as-salāmah_, _bit-tawfīq_." He walked away, and Hannibal looked at her again.

"He's not much for conversation," Smith said with a helpless shrug, but he seemed disappointed in his pilot's behavior. Frankly, so was Maddie. She watched Murdock walk away, and was alarmed to see him waver just a little before he went into his own tent. "Don't worry, Lieutenant," Smith told her, grinning as he blew a smoke ring. "We'll take good care of him."


	4. Sweet Dreams

**SEASON OF THE WITCH**

Chapter 4

* * *

It took little time for Murdock to master the ukulele, and he strummed on the strings as Face and B.A. played cards. He tried out a few country songs, starting with 'Set 'Em Up Joe' and going to 'Walking the Floor', until B.A. snapped at him to shut up with that 'damned hillbilly music'. Murdock loftily pointed that it was _not _hillbilly music but instead classic _country_ music, and went into 'Ring of Fire'. After that, he informed Baracus that Johnny Cash was a member of the rock'n'roll _and_ country music Halls of Fame – how many big ugly homicidal, misogynistic rap artists could claim _that_?

Before an argument could escalate into a fistfight, with Murdock likely at the losing end, Face talked Murdock into a game of cards and sent B.A. in search of grill parts. The pilot sat down on an orange crate opposite him and watched Peck deal the cards. He counted carefully, unable to stop himself, and sized up what Face had by the expression on the other man's face. Not a good one, Murdock easily deduced.

Peck watched Murdock's face, trying yet again to figure out what the pilot had. All he could see was cool green and calculation. Murdock was the most calculating person Peck had ever come across, and not just mathematically. It often got a little unnerving – behind that _crazy_ was a mind that worked at double speed, and far better than any Peck had encountered before. He wasn't cunning in a mean, self-gratifying way, but merely able to size up his opponent, draw careful equations (sometimes, Peck could swear he often saw math equations floating around above Murdock's head as he sized things up and made his decision), add up risks, and then calmly take that person's every last dime. Face had lost count of the number of times Murdock had bluffed him into throwing away his last dollar.

"Where'd you go to college, Murdock?" Face asked, sighing wearily and throwing away a three of spades. He rarely asked his friend questions about his past, but he was hoping to distract Murdock a little. Fat chance there, he thought miserably as Murdock's eyes didn't even light up a little. _Nothing_. He just studied his cards instead. He didn't even _arrange_ them. Nerve-wracking.

"MIT." Murdock dug in his pockets for a lighter and Face watched, startled, as the pilot lit a cigarette.

"Really?" Face couldn't very well say he was surprised to hear this.

"Got a scholarship. Aerodynamic engineering, and then I went to Yale and got a degree in physics, and a minor in mathematics, and another in American lit. You know – the easy stuff." He spoke without any inflection of superiority. Instead, he sounded bored with the whole thing. "Finished on an accelerated program, too. Figured I should get as much stuff done as soon as possible…" He didn't finish his thought, leaving Face wondering _why_.

"Good God…I have trouble just balancing my checkbook."

"Give it to me – I'll add it up right good for you. I got a head for numbers, for some reason. Never knew why – my family was as poor as snakes, so I never saw no big numbers 'til I went to Boston." Murdock took a drag on the cancer stick, closed his eyes briefly, and let it settle between his lips. "I smoke one of these a month. Just one. Self-inflicted punishment for a life of sin and debauchery, see?"

"I can't recall seeing you sin, Murdock," Face grinned. "Much less debauch yourself. You don't even drink to excess, and I've never been able to get you to go whoring with me. What was your lit paper about?"

"_The Great Gatsby_. Great novel. It's about re-inventing yourself, trying to better yourself – your circumstances…and chasin' your dreams, and at seventeen, I was really into chasin' my dreams, but they had this annoying habit of turnin' to so much dust. I almost went with _An American Tragedy_, but it wouldn't gel for me, and I didn't feel right about it, as it was based on a true story about a guy murderin' his _pregnant_ girlfriend. _Yech_. Somebody else took on _The Rise and Fall of the House of Usher_. That was what I was going for first time 'round…"

"I'm surprised you didn't do it on, say, _The Spirit of St Louis_." Face grinned and put down his cards, sure he had won, but his smile faded as he gathered what Murdock had just said. _So much dust._ The pilot put his cards down, smiling happily – he had a full house. He drew on his cigarette and pulled the pot toward him – sixty-seven pull-tabs, twenty-three Michelob bottle tops and three dollars. B.A. returned, scowling at his lack of success at finding proper grill parts, and snatched the cigarette out of Murdock's mouth.

"What the hell you doin', fool? Those things cause cancer!"

Murdock shrugged and relinquished his seat to B.A., who glared at him until he left. Face gestured for B.A. to sit down. "Did you know he has a Ph.D. in aerodynamics?" he asked the mechanic. "A friggin' _Ph.D._?"

"Does that make him, like, a doctor or somethin'?" B.A. queried, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the pilot wasn't in sight.

"I guess. Beats me. He's got another degree in physics. I swear that guy surprises me every day."

"Yeah, and he surprised me the other day, with that damn hand buzzer," B.A. grumbled. "Crazy fool…one of these days, he's gonna get hurt. I mean…you know…somebody who won't be so forgiving as me."

Face burst into laughter, and kept laughing for long time, even as B.A. glowered at him.

* * *

Murdock spent the first hours of the night inside one of the Apaches, dozing and thinking while lying on the floor behind the seats. He had never really regarded himself as 'homeless' _per se_, but when he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, counting bolts and then giving each of them its own name, he realized that he hadn't had a real, honest-to-God _home_ since the age of eighteen, and he was pushing forty now. Forty. He had friends – well, _some_ – back home who were married and had grown kids by now and were even becoming _grandparents_. He doubted he'd ever have that kind of life – what woman in her right mind would want somebody like him, anyway? He wasn't good-looking, he wasn't charming, he wasn't smooth…he was just messed up. That's what the doctors had always said – PTSD and other psychiatric issues of varying degrees of severity.

Lately, he'd been thinking a little about Morgansville, Texas, for reasons he didn't really understand – it was just one of his little mental games, bringing up images and sounds and smells of his youth and more peaceful days, and besides, he had thought Lieutenant Morgan was kind of pretty – and he'd never see her again, if she was lucky.

Well…very pretty. Okay. So what. He coughed and zeroed in on bolt #457, deciding that Tim was an excellent name for it.

He had been up there several times, having an aunt who lived in that area and ran a small cattle operation. He had never seen Maddie Morgan there, though, and if he had her age right, she was several years his junior anyway. He had heard his aunt say something about one of the 'Miss Morgans' who taught music, dancing and singing, and had actually gone to New York and even to Russia to dance with the Bolshoi. But there were five Miss Morgans, at last count, including a spinster aunt in her sixties, and Murdock couldn't imagine her dancing with the Bolshoi. Scaring the holy hell out of Bolsheviks, maybe…she had been a cranky old bat, as he recalled.

Funny, but the Morgansville Morgans had, for the most part, been pretty nice folks. Miss Georgia Morgan – the matriarch of the family, thus earning the purely Southern honorific of 'Miss' in spite of her forty-seven year marriage – had taught Murdock how to play the piano, until he had suddenly banged on the keys and belted out 'Great Balls of Fire'. She had declared the lessons _over_ and that she needed a drink. Still, she had been kind, and to meet Maddie, clearly a relative of that nice lady, had been a nice reminder of home.

He closed his eyes, remembering the huge, rambling and majestic Victorian Morgansville Hotel – right on the shores of Lake Morgan. At night, it looked like a ship, with its windows all lit up, with folks spilling out onto the white wicker-infested lawn to dance under Japanese lanterns. The men all wore white linen suits in the summer, and tuxes in the winter, and the ladies wore silk and chiffon gowns, with flowers in their hair. They laughed and drank champagne until the first lights of dawn showed in the eastern horizon. Wealthy folks went to the Morgansville (most people just called it 'The Morgan'), to hobnob with their social equals. The only contact they had with the locals, as Murdock recalled, was to ask for a striper guide to take them to a prime spot on the lake. Not that the locals always took them to the _best_ spots. If they were smart-mouthed Yankees, they might just skim them across the lake as a final touch to an 'adventurous' fishing expedition.

He went back to naming the bolts. He had done that back at the VA in Mexico – he had named every tile in the ceiling, and every block of linoleum flooring down the hall, and had spent hours devising various ways of escaping – of finding his freedom. To the point of – to the detriment of his hearing, he had to admit – trying to jumpstart an ambulance with defibrillator paddles. Probably not his best course of action, he had to admit. He still had a touch of tinnitus from that little escapade, and in the past eight years, he had developed quite a skill at lip-reading to compensate. Still, he couldn't watch _Citizen Kane_ with the mute on, or he'd think everybody was looking for a rowboat.

Murdock knew he was sort of free, even in Iraq. He could do as he pleased, so long as Hannibal was around to okay it. But even that chaffed a little. He knew that he had to answer to somebody, even out of the military, and at the end of his life he'd have to answer to a very big Somebody, but there were still days he wanted to just jump into a chopper and take off, and go be whatever or whoever he damn well pleased. Maybe go live on an island by himself, or take a job as a fry-cook on Venus, or put that degree in physics to use. If he had wanted, he could have a cushy job at Yale, teaching and smoking weed. But mainly, he wanted to just do…_something_. Something more interesting than this. Something _he_ chose, rather than having to ask permission.

Tired of trying to sleep, he got up and clambered down, giving a wide berth to a Marine making out with a nurse against the side of a Chinook, and headed to the Officers' Club. He was recognized by four or five ranking men, who nonetheless kept away and let him buy a bottle of Bud. He settled at a table, by himself, and nursed his drink, enjoying the mild buzz the alcohol gave him. He was not a big drinker, and generally preferred to stay sober and be crazy, instead of getting drunk and becoming something he didn't like being around.

A small stage had been set up at one end of the bar, and Murdock watched miserably as two drunk Marines got up and performed the dirtiest version of 'Louie Louie' ever heard outside the confines of Western civilization. The crowd hooted and booed them off the stage, and a small Japanese-American woman in a US Army Major's uniform stood up and, to the stunned amazement of the audience, sang 'What a Wonderful World', sounding _exactly_ like Louis Armstrong, right down to the 'Oh, yeah…' at the end. .

After she sat down, a trio of reporters (guests of a Navy Admiral) from _Newsweek_ got up and sang 'My Boyfriend's Back', complete with hand gestures and fairly good choreography for three seriously drunk white guys. Murdock winced and rubbed his eyes as their voices failed to blend harmoniously. They sounded more like a bunch of cats being thrown down a flight of stairs in a metal garbage can.

He watched a group of Brock Pike's Black Forest guys amble in, looking like they owned the place. They always did – they reminded him a lot of the Yankee or California real estate developers that strolled into the Hill Country, bought up all the land, stripped it and built bland, sand-colored houses in neighborhoods with names like Cimarron Hills and Hidalgo Ridge. He knew some of the other security firms that had come to Iraq in the past few years, and had found most of them to be pretty decent guys, but these Black Forest dudes…they were just _rude_.

The five Black Forest dudes took over a table and ordered beers. One of them recognized Murdock, and he heard one of them say 'retard', but he ignored that. He didn't let insults bother him.

"Hey, hey, y'all, shaddup already, wudja?" yelled the Master of Ceremonies – a Sergeant Friday, who was – naturally – nicknamed Dragnet. "Up next on our Karaoke from Hell Night, we have Captain Maddie Morgan, singin'…uh…um…oh, we'll y'all'll figure it out!"

Murdock sat up straight and angled around so he could get a better look. He hadn't seen her in two years, and the shock of seeing her now had him transfixed. He watched as Maddie took the stage, grabbed the mike from Dragnet and looked at the band. She was wearing typical Army fatigues, but managed to look remarkably feminine just the same. "I'm gonna sing Patsy Cline's 'Sweet Dreams'. What're y'all gonna play?" There was a smattering of laughter from the crowd, and she began singing the classic operatic country song. Murdock finished off his beer and spun the bottle on the table, listening as she carried the song perfectly, exhibiting real, well-trained talent. Maybe she _was_ that Miss Morgan who had taught music, dancing and singing at The Morgan.

When she finished, she curtsied to the applauding crowd and left the stage, heading over to the bar. Murdock observed the biggest of the Black Forest dudes heading over there, too, and stiffened. Sure enough, the dude – Murdock had never bothered to learn any of their names – started chatting Maddie up. She politely, but firmly, turned him down and went back to drinking her Coke. The dude's eyes narrowed and he showed no sign of being willing to make that long, humiliating walk back to his friends' table. He stayed there beside her, and ordered another beer, and Murdock read his body language pretty easily – he wasn't accustomed to being turned down, and he wasn't going to go down without making a _point_.

Finally, she finished her drink, paid the bartender, laughed at something he said, and started toward the door. The Black Forest dude grabbed her arm and said something to her, but she stared him down until he released her arm and let her go. But Murdock knew that wasn't the end of it, and he only had to count to ten before the dude followed her out into the night. The pilot stood, dug his three-dollar winnings out of his pocket, paid at the bar, and went out into the night.

* * *

Maddie never drank. She had been raised in a deeply religious family, and unlike a lot of people with that kind of background, she had obeyed and respected the rules and had come to appreciate the structure those rules gave her – the solid foundation they provided, and how they kept her out of a lot of trouble. Even after leaving home at sixteen to head off to Russia, she had kept away from the drugs and booze, even while singing in bars and honky-tonks or training the most _untalented_ singers and dancers on the planet, and numerous dissipated Russian ballet dancers. She had chased the neon rainbow in her younger days, but had stayed away from the stuff behind the bars. She had also stayed away from the party scene, even when thousands of miles from home.

She still loved to sing, though, and did it whenever she could, because she didn't want to lose her touch. Dancing professionally was a thing of the past, though she still taught ballroom and ballet when called upon back home. She also taught singing, piano, guitar, mandolin and violin, and had done a bit of art teaching when the summer tourists were at the hotel, and helped with a lot of the cooking when things got really busy. She couldn't sew worth spit, though, and had never been anything other than an 'honorary adviser' (aka 'supplier of materials') to the Morgansville Quilting Society. From her father, she had learned how to run trout lines, fly a crop duster, play baseball, skin bucks, and love God, family and country, in that order. All in all, as her Mama would put it, Maddie was well-rounded young lady.

Still, she kind of wished she had also taken some self-defense classes. The Army had taught her how to _fight_, and to keep fit, but had only given her the basics before sending her to Fort Lee, and was thus a little shaky when it came to really defending herself. So right now, as she walked back toward her quarters, she sensed that her lack of real fighting skills was going to bring her to bad ends one day if she wasn't careful. That guy – Hanley – from Black Forest hadn't taken her rejection well, and she could sense that she hadn't seen the last of him just yet.

Her brothers had told her, countless times, that if somebody grabbed her, she should make herself dead weight and just drop like a rock, and use her keys to do as much damage to her attacker's private parts as she could. If that didn't work, she should scream "Fire!" instead of "Rape!". She tried to remember anything else that might be useful as she felt her heart start pounding – like that scene from _Miss Congeniality_. Was it S-I-N-G? Or S-O-N-G? S-A-N-G? Nervously, she glanced back and saw that Hanley was indeed right behind her. She swallowed and turned to face him.

"Listen, I told you I wasn't interested, okay? It's nothing really…personal," she told him, trying to sound calm. But Hanley's expression was smug – she was alone in an unlit area, and he was twice her size. She took a deep breath. "You're drunk and obviously a little…uh…insecure…" Oh, that'll go over well, she thought.

"Nobody tells me 'no', baby," he told her. "Nobody." He narrowed his eyes, and she thought that if he wasn't so _ugly_, he might have been kind of handsome. But in the semi-darkness, he looked feral – and vicious. "You need to learn a lesson, little girl."

"Sorry, but I already attended college. Learned all kinds of lessons…so you can go back to the Officer's Club and got thoroughly pissed, okay?"

Hanley didn't look amused by her suggestion. Instead, he advanced on her, and she reacted instinctively. She packed all her weight into her punch, and managed to make actual contact with his cheek. He took a step back, and the feral look in his eyes changed to pure rage. "Little bitch!" he snarled, and backhanded her – hard. She cried out in pain, having had no time at all to brace herself for the strike, and fell against some empty oil barrels. Maddie opened her eyes, prepared to see Hanley coming at her to finish whatever he was going to do, but instead, she was startled to see an oddly familiar figure behind her attacker.

"Hey, my name's Captain James Murdock."

Oh, so that's him, she thought. I thought I recognized him back at the club. Maddie blinked and put her hand to her cheek, feeling something wet, and her cheek was stinging. _Great_.

Hanley turned to face the pilot. "Why the hell should I care who you are?"

"Oh, I just thought you might like to know the name of your assailant," Murdock answered, his voice friendly, even casual.

Hanley burst into laughter. "Oh, yeah. Brock told me about you – the retard!" The big mercenary drew back and prepared to punch the pilot, but Maddie watched in fascination as Captain Murdock dodged the punch, pivoted smoothly to the left, grabbing Hanley's arm and pushing it down at the elbow, twisting it to the inside at the same time and causing Hanley to bend sharply. Murdock's knee went up, slamming _hard_ into Hanley's arm.

She heard a sickening crack as the elbow broke, and a pop as the arm came out of its socket, and suddenly Hanley was on the ground, wailing helplessly, his arm dangling uselessly at his side as he writhed in agony. Murdock used his tennis-shoe clad foot to edge Hanley off the injured arm and onto his back, and settled his heel into the man's throat.

"Now you will apologize to the lady."

Hanley was sobbing now, obviously in intense pain. "Unghghhhhh…"

"Say I'm sorry, _boy_. Like a good _boy_."

"I…I'm sorry…" Hanley wheezed.

"No, no…to the lady…see the lady?" Murdock didn't even look back, keeping his gaze on Hanley. He gestured to Maddie, who stood, trembling and touching her bruised, bloody cheek. "Say you're sorry to the lady."

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…ma'am…please for God's sake…owww…oh Jesus…"

Maddie was starting to shake now. She had never seen anything like this before. Never. "Captain…" she whispered. "You're…you're killing him…"

"Oh, I ain't killin' him. He ain't worth killin'. I'm teaching this bed-wettin' little _boy_ here a lesson. A good lesson about manners and how a man ought to treat a lady. Right, _boy_? If he keeps up with his bad manners, he'll need killin' some day, I'm sure, but we can all hope that he has _learned_ his _lesson_." He pressed his foot into the writhing mercenary's Adam's apple, and Hanley's eyes bulged. He pressed just a little more, and then suddenly stepped off. He backed away a little, and looked at Maddie.

Hanley, gasping for breath and unable to move his right arm, struggled to sit up but finally gave up and lay in the dirt, yowling with pain and sobbing. Murdock studied Maddie, and finally touched her chin, turning her cheek to the minimal light. He frowned at the bleeding cut. "Better get to the Red Cross tent, baby," he nodded. "Tell 'em to come pick up this _boy_, too." He released her chin and walked away.

* * *

General Morrison rubbed his forehead and studied Colonel Smith, then shifted his gaze to Captain Murdock. The pilot had, in a _technical _sense, assaulted a member of the Black Forest unit, but then again, no actual punch had been thrown by anyone besides Hanley, and the mercenary had _literally_ assaulted two officers in the United States Army.

"Captain Murdock, you broke Philip Hanley's elbow and dislocated his arm. He'll require physical therapy to even be able to _write_ again."

"So how much trouble am I in, exactly?" Murdock asked him. "Uh…sir?"

"Well…Hanley is not in the service, so it's not a military matter, really. It's more a civil matter, and considering the circumstances – you were defending a woman from being assaulted. Probably sexually assaulted…but then again, Hanley was drunk and Brock Pike has dismissed him from his team and he's going home…so charges aren't being pressed. Captain Morgan may press charges against him, though."

"So she's a captain now?" Murdock asked.

"Yes. Captain Madelia Morgan – DLA. An excellent officer, by the way. She does a great deal of work with making sure the Army is properly supplied, from what I hear. Very dedicated. Many commendations."

"Madelia?" Murdock's eyes lifted. "That's her name?"

"Yes, Captain." Morrison tried to look disgruntled, but it was hard to stay angry at Captain Murdock. He finally shook his head. "I have to say, from what Captain Morgan described to us, that move was quite impressive. Where did you learn it?"

"I used to watch a lot of WWF, sir," Murdock shrugged. "And I hate rude behavior in a man. I won't tolerate it. And those Black Forest assh-…er…dudes are very rude."

Morrison looked at Hannibal, who sat back in his chair and sighed. "All right, Captain. Well done, and don't do it again. You are dismissed. I believe you're training some new guys this afternoon?"

"Yeah. There's only three or four of 'em that look promising. The rest of 'em are dumber'n a sack of hammers and won't last a month."

Morrison had to fight back a snicker, and covered it by pressing his thumb to the top of the bridge of his nose, pushing at a headache. "Okay. Fine. Go on."

Murdock stood, saluted kind of vaguely, and left. Smith grinned at the General, who shook his head. "Where the hell did you find that guy?"

"Mexico. Army psych hospital." Smith grinned and lit a cigar.

"Eight years now, huh?"

"Yep."

The General picked up Captain Murdock's thick file and slapped it on the desk. "MIT." He shook his head. "Hard to believe. Only…not really that hard at all. Did you see his IQ scores? His college boards? SAT's?"

"Yeah. That's why I plucked him out of that hospital. I can only hope I've given him _some _freedom. And…well…he's a genius. A mad genius – like the great geniuses generally tend to be, anyway. I get the feeling that when Hanley tried to sucker punch him, Murdock was making mathematical calculations, and picturing angles of bone structure and figuring out exactly where to hit to cause maximum damage at last amount of effort. B.A. is terrifying in his own aspect, and Face is pretty lethal, too, when push comes to shove – so long as he doesn't get dirty - but Murdock…" He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I can only expect to be surprised. He surprises me every day."


	5. Original Spice

**SEASON OF THE WITCH**

Part 5

This is just a sort of 'move the plot along' bit. I've finally got a couple of solid ideas that are jelling a bit, so hopefully I can get them written out before the weekend's over. Here's just a hint: Face has his El Diablo. Might Murdock require something...similar?

* * *

Maddie distractedly touched the bruise on her cheek, peering at herself in a hand mirror. It was healing quite nicely – not like the bruises one sees in movies, though. It seemed like those types of injuries healed overnight, or actually never showed up at all, even after the most severe beatings. Maybe that was just a matter of a lapse in attention from the makeup artists. Her bruise, with the little cut right in the middle, had faded to a sickening green and was now turning a kind of malaria-yellow. Everyone she met stared at it, to the point that she would start moving her head from side to side, making a 'tick-tock' sound, telling them that when she snapped her fingers, they would start clucking like a chicken.

It had been five days since her attack by the Officer's Club. She knew her attacker had been sent home in disgrace, and she had filled out a stack of paperwork with regard to pressing charges. The doctor had informed her, with a calm expression but a glint of humor in his eye, that Philip Hanley had a badly broken elbow, and that it had taken two burly doctors and a snickering nurse to pop his arm back into its socket. The supposedly tough mercenary had been crying like a ten-year old girl the whole time, according to rumor.

She was sitting in her quarters, tired of going out and being asked how she was feeling. She felt fine, thank you. A little shaken, yes, but in all other respects just hunky with a side of dory. Still, she was restless – it was six o'clock at night, there was nothing whatsoever to do, and the term 'at loose ends' was a rather annoying one now. She was accustomed to being busy. From childhood, from 'can to can't', she had been up and about, applying herself to whatever task came her way. She had never learned or enjoyed the practice of doing nothing.

Finally, irritated with herself, she grabbed her jacket and went out into the cool night. She caught the sound of somebody singing down at the Officer's Club, but made a detour away from there and instead went down to the USO, where all the regular soldiers gathered to just shoot the breeze, listen to whatever touring band was playing, or just be bored together instead of individually. That was life in Iraq, these days, as they were nearing the final days of occupation. Pretty soon, a lot of these good men and women would be going home, and Maddie would be heading to Texas for the first time in almost two years.

The band playing in the makeshift hall was one she didn't recognize, but they weren't bad – apparently some blend of country and blues – and she stopped to listen before seeking out a table. She was immediately gratified to see two friends of hers – Sgt. Lori Gilhool and Capt. Amanda Pierce – sitting at a table, laughing. Probably about the men in their respective lives. They saw her and waved her over.

"Good God, what happened to you?" Lori asked, peering at Maddie's bruise. "That looks nasty!"

"One of those Black Forest jackwagons hit me."

"Are you joking?" Amanda gasped. She was a petite blonde with wide, trusting blue eyes. "Why'd he do that?"

"Mainly because I wouldn't go back to his place and, as he ever-so-seductively put it, 'explore the Black Forest'. He was a real charmer, that one."

"And how'd you get away with just a bruise…or…did he…" Lori's expression was cautious, but Maddie smiled.

"I was very lucky – an officer came along and broke said jackwagon's elbow and dislocated his arm."

"Well! Let me shake that guy's hand!" Lori laughed. She reminded Maddie a lot of Demi Moore, except that she didn't like younger men.

"You may know him – you've heard of Hannibal Smith's unit – the Alpha Team, right?"

Lori grinned. "Oh, so it was Peck, right? I've seen him around. _Yum_."

"No, not him. The…the other one…the…" Maddie felt her face warming.

"Baracus? Yeah, he could do some damage…" Amanda nodded.

"No, no…Captain Murdock."

The two women were silent for a moment, staring at her. "The pilot? Oh." Lori and Amanda looked at each other. "He was just in here a minute ago…he was with Peck, but he always kinda keeps to himself. Oh…wait…there's Peck!" She stood up and waved, ignoring Maddie's desperate attempt to quell her. "Hey, Lieutenant Peck! C'mere!"

Maddie wanted to crawl under the table, and kind of slumped in her seat as an alternative. She wasn't sure if she could face Peck, much less Captain Murdock. She looked up and saw Peck staring down at her, his eyes widening with recognition. "Well…it's old folk's at home night, huh? How ya doin'?" He grinned at her, his teeth the same brilliant white. She managed a sickly smile back, but managed to give him a firm handshake just the same. "Took quite a hit a few days ago, huh? I hear that bastard's headin' back home in disgrace, too."

"Well, he deserved it," Lori nodded. "And it was probably even more embarrassing, what with gettin' the shit kicked out of him by…you know…" She shrugged and smiled a little, glancing at Maddie, who shrunk further into her seat.

Peck's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Lori for several ticks before he put on another smile, but it was clear he was offended. "Right. Not like he got his elbow snapped and his arm dislocated by an Army Ranger or anything. Just a…you know…_pilot_. A crazy one at that." Maddie saw his eyes roll slightly, and he shook his head.

"Right…" Lori sensed that she had said the wrong thing, and looked quizzically at Maddie.

"Too bad you missed him," Peck nodded toward the door. "He just left. He hates this place. Hates crowds. I had to drag him here by his ear, more or less, but he didn't like the noise and refused to stay. So he headed back to his tent. And he's a damn good fighter, too, by the way."

"Right, right," Lori nodded again, embarrassed now. Maddie forced herself to straighten in her seat.

"Would you like to sit with us for a while, Lieutenant?" she asked kindly. He grinned, grabbed a chair and turned it around, sitting in it backwards, arms resting on the top and sipping his beer.

"I seem to recall saying I'd buy you a drink if that mission back at Hooyah was successful," he reminded Maddie. "I never did follow up on that one, did I?"

"You were busy hanging out with Captain Murdock – he was injured, after all."

"He hates doctors," Peck nodded. "I stayed around to keep him calm while they stitched up that headwound. I read him letters to the editor from _Hustler_. That kept him annoyed enough to distract him, anyway."

Maddie smiled, glad the USO was dark enough that he couldn't see her blush, and not fully understanding why she was blushing. Probably because she hadn't managed to speak to Captain Murdock to thank him for helping her out. What if Hanley had had a weapon, after all? What if there had been more of them there? All kinds of _what ifs_ had been running around in her head, and one of them had been 'what if none of that had happened, but instead Captain Murdock had been the one who followed me out there?' She wasn't sure how she would have reacted to that _if_. She didn't consider him dangerous, but there was something about him…she just couldn't figure out what, exactly.

"Oh, God, I can't believe it – we have to get back. We're up early tomorrow," Amanda said, nodding to Lori, who sighed and stood, looking between Maddie and Peck for a moment. The two women left, and Peck turned the chair around and sat, facing Maddie and grinning.

"I think they think we're an item," he laughed.

"Fat chance of that," she countered, grinning back.

"So that's healing well?" he nodded, tipping his beer bottle in the direction of her cheek.

"Yes. I really should speak to Captain Murdock…thank him for his help…"

"He'd just mumble something about doin' his duty, believe me. He won't accept praise from anybody, except maybe Hannibal. And…oh, hey, look…" He gestured with the bottle toward the door, and she turned to see Captain Murdock standing there. He was in his usual cargoes and T-shirt, his red Airborne Rangers cap on, but what startled her was the expression on his face – he looked…angry. She heard Peck's soft expletive, and looked at him. He was standing up.

"Hey, HM, c'mon over and siddown, will ya?"

Captain Murdock edged through the crowd, avoiding being touched by anybody, and finally made it to the table. He stood for a just a moment, observing his friend and Maddie, before finally taking the seat at her right hand. She smiled at him, and he looked down.

"I really wanted to thank you, Captain, for what you did the other night…I really did…do…appreciate it…"

Peck sat down again, leaning slightly toward Murdock. "Funny to run into Captain Morgan here, huh? I walk back in here and lo and behold, she was sittin' here with two of her friends…two years go by fast, huh, bud?" Peck jumped back to his feet and left to get Maddie a drink, and she flinched, realizing he was likely to buy her a beer.

"Well, phooey…I should have told him I don't drink," she said, smiling warily at Murdock. "And I really do appreciate your help…if there's ever anything I can do…uh…for you…"

He shook his head, and she could have sworn his cheeks pinked. "It's all right. I…uh…well, he deserved it. Man hits a woman, he needs a good, hard whuppin'. Dja ever see that mini-series, on AMC? _Broken Trail_? When that guy shot that fellow's thumbs off for tryin' to rape a girl? That's about why a guy deserves, in my opinion, for spoilin' women. Call me a chauvinist pig if you like, but…I just won't tolerate that. Not for a minute."

She nodded, and for just a moment, their gazes locked, but he flinched and looked away, clearly embarrassed.

"Do you come here often…uh…oh, probably not. Lieutenant Peck said you hate crowds."

"I do. Hate crowds, I mean."

"So why did you come back?"

"I…I dunno. Just did. I do lots of stuff without really knowin' _why_." He lifted his chin slightly when Peck returned, bearing a bottle of Original Spiced Captain Morgan rum and two glasses, with a bottle of Bud tucked under his arm for Murdock.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I don't drink…" she said, shaking her head and giving him a gracious smile. "But thank you."

"You don't drink? Not at all?" Peck looked mildly disappointed. "Not even Captain Morgan?" He handed the Bud to Murdock, who expertly tapped the top off on the edge of the table. He took a swig and eyed the Lieutenant.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. I don't jump on anybody who does, unless they're hurting somebody else because of it, but I prefer to just…abstain." She gave a flippant little wave of her hand, hoping she hadn't offended the charming lieutenant, and from his smile, she was relieved to see that she hadn't.

"Abstinence…something Face here abstains from with great enthusiasm and dedication. He teaches anti-abstinence lessons at the Y whenever he's stateside. He could star in an Army hygiene film." Murdock said, with a chilly edge to his voice. Peck did look offended then, and frowned at Murdock, who sipped his beer and stood, wiping his mouth. "I'm goin' back. See ya."

"Wait a minute…what the hell was that supposed to mean, Murdock? You've have a burr under your saddle for the past coupla days, and I'm pretty damn tired of it, okay?"

"'A burr under my saddle'? Been watchin' cowboy porn now?"

"Oh, look, Murdock the prude," Peck snapped, gesturing angrily, but the pilot only stiffened, and Maddie caught that glint in his eye – the same glint she had seen the night he had taken down Hanley. She stood up, not sure what to do.

"Uh…listen, I think I'll just…uh…go now. It was nice seeing you both." She grabbed her coat and made for the door. Both men watched her leave, before Peck rounded on Murdock again. She looked back to see Murdock just turn and walk away, heading toward the door as well. She rushed out and moved along the path toward her own quarters. She looked back and was surprised – but not really surprised at all – to see the pilot standing there, still holding his bottle of beer.

"What?" she gasped. "Are you…you're not…"

"Hell no," he shook his head. "I don't do that."

"Oh. Good."

"You oughta take self-defense classes, though." He took another swig of the beer. He glanced back and she saw Peck emerge from the USO club, and sighed. What, were they going to have a fight now? "Here, lemme show you…"

Peck walked toward them, still looking mildly disgruntled, but he looked surprised when Murdock turned to him, grinning. "Hey, let's show Captain Morgan here how to defend herself proper-like. You know, for future reference."

"Oh, God, not that again…I hate when you make me do that. Why can't it be you this time, man?"

"Because it's good _comedy_, damn it. Now try an' grab me from behind!"

Maddie watched with delighted fascination as Peck winced, flexed his arms and fingers, and went for Murdock, apparently believing that maybe this time he would luck out. But the captain moved fast, speaking as he repelled the lieutenant's attack. "First…remember to _sing_, Captain," he told her. "Solar plexus…" He slammed his elbow into Peck's ribs, causing him to double over, wheezing, and step back to regain his breath, but he showed remarkable determination by going at Murdock again. "Instep…" He brought his foot down on Peck's foot with almost earth-rattling force. "Nose…"

"No! Please, no…no…c'mon…"

Murdock was considerably gentler this time around, only smacking Peck lightly on the forehead with his knuckles, only getting a gasped curse in response. "Genitalia…"

"No! _No_." Peck moved quickly, dodging Murdock's deadly aim. "Damn it! Next time, I swear to God, it'll be your turn! Yes, thank you, and now the show is _over_!"

Maddie was laughing by then. "I was trying to remember that when Hanley attacked me, but I was in a complete panic, and then he…hit me. Well, actually, I took a jab at him first, but that kinda pissed him off."

"Best thing to do is just scream," Murdock nodded. He dodged Peck's attempt at a friendly sucker punch, and soon had the lieutenant in a headlock. He dug his knuckles into Peck's skull, causing him to yelp with pain. "Never scream 'Rape', of course. That doesn't help. Try 'Fire' instead."

"Yes, yes, my brothers told me that."

"Is anyone going to help me here?" Peck asked, still bent over and starting to wobble a little as his air supply was being cut off. Murdock released him and he smoothed his shirt, huffing indignantly.

"And of course, when a guy comes straight at you, the wrist-to-nose jab is very helpful…"

"Don't even try it!" Peck snapped, backing away and glaring at Murdock, who giggled.

"I'll try to remember that."

"Yes, you ought to. Little Red Ridin' Hood, wanderin' around alone, is liable to attract big bad wolves. Forget feminism, baby, when you're out by yourself. Carry your keys between your fingers, too, and go for the eyes if you can." He nodded. "Drop like a rock and go for Mr Happy. Right, Facey?"

"Hey, I have never attacked a woman in my life, and I never will. I certainly have never had to force one. And I won't. And what _is_ wrong with you, man? You've been grouchy these past few days."

"Dunno. One of my moods, I reckon. See ya, Captain," he said, saluting her smartly and walking away. Peck grinned at her, saluted as well, and followed Murdock. She heard them bickering, but as their voices faded she heard them both laughing, their anger at each other gone. Maddie smiled after them, amused. Boys will be boys, she thought, and went back toward her quarters. Still, she thought as she went into her room, she had better hide her underwear just the same.


	6. San Gabriel Blues

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 6

* * *

Maddie had never had much reason to head to the section of the camp where the Alpha units were quartered. Even more, since her little 'incident' two weeks before, she had figured heading that way would result in a run-in with Brock Pike and his Black Forest unit. Rumor had it that Pike wasn't terribly pleased about losing one of his men, and not because of how _he_ had behaved, but because she had pressed charges and also because Captain Murdock had so easily humiliated one of his own.

Nonetheless, she had decided to head down there anyway. She wasn't sure why she wanted to see Murdock again, and decided not to analyze it too closely and just go. She tied her hair back, changed into her least wrinkled fatigues and headed through the camp, which was as busy as Grand Central at rush hour, soldiers everywhere, trying to get things organized and ready for their departure for points west. She spotted Colonel Smith talking to a group of soldiers, and decided he might know where to find the pilot.

The Colonel looked vaguely distracted, but he still gave her a friendly smile. "Good to see you again, Captain. Hey…the bruise is gone!"

"Yes," she smiled, touching her cheek. "Barely even a scar."

"I can't see it at all," he nodded, after peering more closely at her in the fading light. "How've you been? I suspect you're being kept very busy with inventory and the like." He started walking toward his own tent, and she kept abreast of him.

"Yes, I have been, but having rank helps – I was able to delegate a few tasks and take off early tonight."

He laughed. "That's my girl!" He raised his head, acknowledging someone behind her, and she turned to see Sergeant Baracus and Lieutenant Peck coming toward them. "Gentlemen. You remember Captain Morgan."

"Good rum," Peck grinned at Maddie. Baracus smiled at her too, which was always a surprising thing to see. She scanned the surrounding crowd of soldiers but did not see Captain Murdock, and looked quizzically at Peck.

"Oh, yeah…Murdock's around here somewhere. Muttering spells over some kind of concoction he's making tonight," Peck nodded. "Hey, wanna join us? A kind of pre-pre-_pre_-celebratory dinner, before we all get to pack up and ship out to…well, somewhere. Probably not home. Not that we really have homes back…home. One base camp to the next, one country to the next, hand-to-mouth…" He shrugged, clearly accustomed to a nomadic lifestyle.

"Well…I don't know…" she said, though she was really quite eager to eat a decent meal for once. She was tired of the fairly mediocre meals at the Officer's Club. "I really just wanted to say hello…"

"Well, then, say hello and sit down and eat with us. We need to brush up on our manners, anyway, don't we, boys?" Smith grinned. "Murdock's a great cook, so long as he isn't allowed to add any _surprise_ ingredients, and even then…"

"Well, a little Bell's Palsy never hurt anybody," Peck snickered. "C'mon. I'll go hunt him down, okay?" He winked at her and trotted away. Smith raised his eyebrow, and Baracus took a seat near the campfire, poking at the coals with a stick. Maddie finally shrugged and sat down on an (not surprisingly) unopened box of MRE's. It was starting to get dark, the sky darkening little by little as the sun sank into the western horizon, and she heard music and laughter from every direction of the camp, and snatches of conversation. Most were talking excitedly about going home, while some were talking about wives and children, home-cooked meals, sports and other simple pleasures of civilian life. She saw two Marines sitting down to a game of chess by firelight, and smiled, remembering similar games with her father back home.

She glanced up when she saw Peck return with Murdock, who took his cap off when he saw her. "Hi." He looked just as shaggy as usual – did the man _never_ put on a uniform, or even his fatigues? She glanced at Colonel Smith, who didn't appear even vaguely bothered by the captain's appearance.

"Hi," she smiled at Murdock. "I understand you're shipping out…or, y'all are…all of you…" She looked around at the men, and rubbed her hands against her thighs, suddenly nervous. "Just thought I'd say a proper goodbye."

"Yeah. I think we're going to the Philippines this time, right Colonel? I dated a girl there, years ago," Murdock said, sitting down and accepting a bottle of Bud from Peck. "She was half-American, half-Polynesian…she was an Amnesian! Wonder where she is now?"

"Well, if she's an Amnesian, I doubt she knows," Peck pointed out with a typically merry laugh, and Maddie realized why the two men were clearly such good friends – they shared the same warped but generally kind natures. Murdock laughed and took a swig of his beer. He looked across at Maddie. "Supper's nearly ready, anyhow. We're having steak and baked potatoes, with steamed veggies. You eat meat, right?"

"Of course I do. Do I _look_ like a vegetarian?"

"Well, you do have good color," Peck noted gravely. "Vegetarian is, by the way, an old Indian word for 'bad hunter', as I recall."

Smith grinned, sitting down, stretching his legs out and gesturing to Murdock. "You and Captain Morgan speak the same dialect."

"More or less. Her dialect is more Highland Lakes chain, north. Mine is more Bertram by way of Oatmeal, still in caliche country, north _central_. I bet you never once jumped in the Blue Hole on Old Bagdad, did you?"

"I most certainly _did_," she nodded solemnly. "Just don't tell my mother. She'll have a stroke. And it's not officially called Old Bagdad on the maps any more. They changed it, but I can't remember what it is now…some number, I think"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Did you do it _naked_?"

"Do what naked?" Maddie asked, startled.

"Jump in the Blue Hole. I did. You had to do it once, at least, to be a true child of the San Gabriel."

"Oh. Yes. I did." She glanced nervously at Peck, who was watching her with his eyebrows up again. "But I'm more of a child of the Simpson River. I swam at the Simpson Dam, most of the time." She smiled softly, remembering those innocent days. How long had it been since she'd gone swimming in a creek, or in a lake? Ten years?

"I imagine that was a sight to see," Peck nodded and took a swig of his beer.

"Manners, boys," Smith remonstrated. "What, exactly, is a Blue Hole, Captain…Murdock?"

"Deep part of the river, right under the bridge that goes over the South San Gabriel, in Liberty Hill, Texas," Murdock informed him. "You jump off the bridge into it – drop of, what, about…six feet or so?" Off Maddie's nod, he continued. "The hole is probably twenty feet deep or more. Last time I was home, I ran across the bridge and jumped over the guardrail and into the water…a dangerous proposition, really. Trip, or aim wrong, and it's 'look Ma, no teeth'. Now, just gettin' out of bed is potentially lethal."

She nodded and accepted a bottle of ice-cold Dr Pepper from Peck. "I remember when it was just the dam, actually," she smiled, and he nodded. "You had to drive over the dam to cross the river, but the county built that bridge and somebody bought the land and so it's officially _their_ dam, but nobody can own a river, thank God. So now, you have to walk through the weeds to get to the water – everybody and his dog goes down there, every summer – last time I was home, I drove down there and I swear, there were thirty cars parked along the road. I recall jumping into the Wash Hole and climbing under the dam and out onto the steps, when I was a kid. Remember that?"

"I doubt I'd fit through the hole any more," Murdock grinned. "I haven't been down there in nearly twenty years. Haven't even been to Texas in ten years."

"Don't you have family there?" she asked, having forgotten all about the other three men.

"No…not…not really." He looked away and drank down the rest of his beer. "None that'd claim me, anyhow." He stood up and threw his beer bottle into a trash barrel. "Better go'n check on the steaks." He left, and Peck leaned forward, looking at Maddie in amazement.

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"We never can get Murdock to talk about his past. _Ever_. We don't even know his birthday, for God's sake, but he's talking about Blue Holes and rivers with you!"

Maddie shrugged. "It's home. I'm sure he has good memories of home, Lieutenant. Most of us do."

Smith shrugged. "I have his personnel records, Face. I know all that stuff. Except the Blue Hole part, of course. That's a new part of the tale, I must admit."

"Crazy fool," B.A. shook his head, but he was laughing. "That sounds like fun, really. I wish there was a creek around here, somewhere. The heat's so bad…you want to just jump in, man. You can't pay me to swim in the Euphrates, though."

"Yeah. Alas, there would be no coed swimming allowed here," Peck pointed out. "Did people really skinny dip in this Blue Hole?"

Maddie blushed, glad it was so dark now that no one could see her pinking cheeks. "You had to do it at least once. But there's a lot more skinny-dipping at Hippy Hollow in Austin. Odd, though, that it's always the least attractive people who want to walk around naked."

Peck laughed. "Nude beaches – I tried one out once in Spain. Good God…I nearly passed out when that old woman shuffled by. She nearly tripped on one of her breasts."

She burst into laughter, and was joined by the others.

Murdock returned with a platter of steaks. He passed out the steaks, and Maddie was pleased to see that hers was grilled to perfection, and sprinkled with varying spices to add flavor. He passed the bottle of steak sauce around, and she peered at it, wondering about the ingredients, but from the way the men were all digging in and dipping their cuts into the sauce, it was fine. She took a taste and smiled. "Oh, God, this is wonderful," she said. "Grass-fed steak. I'll bet it's Angus!"

"Angus? Angus who?" B.A. interjected, pausing in mid-chew and looking alarmed.

"Angus _beef_," Murdock reassured him. "A breed of beef cattle. And awful' hard to get 'hold of Texas-raised brisket and steaks, 'round here," Murdock pointed out. "Fortunately, Face here can get anything. He managed to get a 1957 Mustang convertible into Kuala Lampur. I still wonder about that one. The only thing we can't seem to get out here is Blue Bell – the dry ice just don't last long enough to get it from Brenham to Bagdad, I'm afraid_. _ I have dreams about Blue Bell." The pilot took a bite of his steak and nodded. "This is good steak – damn good. If it was a woman, I'd get naked an' make love to it. Hey, the taters are ready, too. Who wants one?"

* * *

Half of the Alpha Team was vaguely drunk, or at least experiencing a pleasant buzz. The only ones sober were Murdock and Maddie, who tired of trying to keep the others awake after such a heavy meal and drinking and finally wandered out of the camp, toward the soft light in the West. The blazing sun had left a few marks in the edges of the sky, and the stars were a dusting above the only barely-discernable horizon. But above them, the moon hung low and the stars were scattered like diamonds on a deep blue velvet blanket. "Looks like a jewelry shop up there, don't it?" Murdock grinned. She could just make out his profile in the darkness.

"Yes, it's very pretty."

"How come you came 'round here tonight?" he asked her suddenly.

She shrugged. "I got tired of mediocre meals, and had heard about your cooking skills…is it true you tried to jump start an ambulance with defibrillator paddles?"

"Er…yeah." He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Hey, when you're crazy, you do stuff like that."

"Are you really crazy?"

"Oh, yeah. Crazier'n a Central Park squirrel. But crazy is in the eye of the beholder. I always thought insanity was defined as doin' the same thing over and over, expectin' a different result. I never tried the defibrillator paddles _again_…"

She laughed. "Listen…you're going to the Philippines?"

"Yup. Or…that's what I heard last. We got a mission comin' up, prob'ly tomorrow night…I mean…uh…it's kind of…hush-hush, that is…"

"I won't say a word," she shook her head. "I promise. But I was thinking…we're both from God's country – the Hill Country – and we've got a lot in common, and know a lot of the same things and likely a lot of the same people back home…so maybe we could…uh…write."

"Write? Write what?" He sounded confused, but she couldn't see his expression in the darkness.

"To each other. Letters. We could write to each other."

"Oh." She heard him shuffling his feet, and he finally cleared his throat. "I…reckon I could do that. Yeah, I'll write you, if you'd like. If…if I ever have anything to write about. I mean, most of what happens to me is…well, I have long periods of mind-numbing boredom occasionally interrupted by terrifying and potentially life-threatening excitement and violence, and in those situations, pen and paper aren't readily at hand, and I got that whole intermittent mem'ry loss…"

"Well my life isn't exactly riveting, but…I don't like e-mail. It's impersonal – there's something so cold about it. Hand-written letters are just…better. So if I wrote you, would you write back?"

"I would. I don't have an e-mail address anyway. Never did."

"Okay. Good. I do, back at Morgansville, but I haven't been online in probably two years for anything besides work…" She laughed. "Remember, the military basically invented e-mail. Another reason I don't like it much – it's part of _work_. I love serving my country, because I love my country – as she is _lovely_ – but at the end of the day, I just want my life to myself, and to not think about the work involved."

"I thought Al Gore invented the internet, and e-mail." They started walking back toward the camp, gradually re-entering the light and noise, neither of them thrilled with the notion of crowds.

"No, he invented _global warming_."

They paused as a group of Black Forest dudes clomped by, and Brock Pike glared at Murdock, then at Maddie, before continuing on. Other soldiers milling around clearly didn't appreciate their presence and they were soon out of the area, heading back toward their quarters.

"What kind of music do you like?" Murdock asked Maddie, as they went back to the circle of sleeping Alpha Team members by the fire. Murdock cautiously nudged B.A. with the toe of his tennis shoe, but the Sergeant only snuffled grumpily and resumed his steady snoring. Hannibal was out cold, head tipped back and mumbling incoherently, having never been a serious drinker, and Peck was lying on his side in the sand, dreaming about large-breasted women.

"Well…I like anything, really. Roy Acuff to ZZ Top and back around. I do love my iPod. But ever since I left home, I've been missing real music – there's no music on this earth like the sound of the wind in the grass, and in the cedars."

She blushed a little, realizing she sounded awfully maudlin and homesick, but when she looked up at Murdock, she saw him staring at her, his expression one she had never seen before – he looked almost wistful. She wondered what he was thinking, but the pilot suddenly shook himself and nodded. "Yeah. Right…exactly. I'll…I'll…uh…see ya 'round." He looked around at the sleeping members of his team and seemed to contemplate trying to drag them to their quarters, but finally just motioned 'to hell with it' and walked away, toward the hangars. Maddie stood there until she couldn't see him any more, and sighed before turning and walking back to her own lonely quarters.


	7. A Link in the Chain

Season of the Witch

Part 7

"What's puzzling you is the nature of my game…"

~ Mick Jagger

* * *

Maddie leaned forward, picked up the tennis ball, and tossed it across the lawn. Her brother's Chihuahua – a skinny, energetic dog named Nyda - took off after it, and she sat back in the wicker chair, looking toward the lake named for her family. Rain clouds were heading toward the hotel, and the wind was picking up, blowing in from the north, lowering the temperature. The Chihuahua came dancing up to her, holding the ball in its teeth and wagging her tail so hard her entire body was twisting from side to side.

"Good girl," Maddie said, taking the ball and tossing it again. She had a good arm – she had played girls' baseball in high school, in spite of her ballet instructor's horror at the very idea – and she sent it pretty far, hoping to keep the dog occupied for a while before it started raining.

She had been home for two months. Two months of almost non-stop activity, getting ready for the fall season at The Morgan. The Labor Day weekend crowd of tourists had every room in the hotel booked, but as of Tuesday most of them had left. Only a few retired couples occupied some of the rooms, and they were relatively easy to keep happy and well fed. In the meantime, Maddie tried to just keep her mind on the tasks at hand, instead of letting it drift off to an Army psychiatric hospital in Germany. Not that she was successful. It was all she could really think about.

It had been so horrible, to hear about the A-Team's arrest and conviction. To think of those men in prison disgusted her, but her attempts at getting any kind of information on what had happened had been blocked by the DOD, until finally she got a dressing down from a General and told to cease and desist. Maddie wasn't stupid – she knew there was some kind of cover-up going on, but she was blocked at every turn. The trial had been particularly awful to hear about – Smith, Peck, and Baracus were sent to separate prisons, but Captain Murdock had been declared unfit for trial and had been sent to Germany, of all places.

Sighing, frustrated with herself, she dug the letter out of her pocket and unfolded it. It had arrived two days ago, having been forwarded from Germany to Fort Lee, where she had gone first from Iraq, but it missed her by less than a day. She had felt her heart wrench when she'd seen the address of the hospital…and the sketch of a Chinook on the back of the envelope. His hand-writing was rough, but legible.

_Captain Madelia Morgan, USA, Morgansville, Lake Morgan, Morgan County, State of Morg-…Texas,_

_Thought I didn't know your name, huh? I found out by way of a matter of subterfuge, elimination, and hearing General Morrison say it shortly after that prick from Black Forest attacked you. Why don't you go by that name, anyhow? It sounds better than Maddie, in my opinion, but then, my opinion never has counted for much with anybody, so you are allowed to ignore it as per the rest of the world. _

_Nothing much happening around here. I'm surprised anybody let me have a pen. Usually it's just crayons and construction paper, but there's an orderly here who wants to learn Swahili, so in exchange for that he brought me some stationary and a Bic. I am otherwise brushing up on my German and letting the purple wobblies wobble about, to keep myself entertained. They get active at night, let me tell ya, and so do I, like a cat. We're not allowed to do much writing, but then, who do we have to write to? It's not like folks in this place have relatives that want to hear from them, and we sure don't get visitors. _

_OK, so I sound a little bitter. I'm not. Most of them are just dead, and the one cousin I have back home lives in San Angelo and has two kids and her husband's a jackass, and when we were ten she threw a rock at me and so we kind of drifted apart. Lacking family connections, however, can be a little depressing sometimes. I won't go into that, though. I doubt you really want to know. It's all boring and only applicable to me and nobody else. Nobody else wants to know. Not even the psychiatrists ask me a lot about my relatives. Then again, most of them are Jungian, so they don't think I should blame Mama. I don't. Far as I know, she never did anything wrong in her life. She taught me to read and write and fry eggs and take care of myself, and to love Jesus and my country – you can't get much better than that, I think._

_I suppose you're wondering why I'm here. I still don't quite know, but it's not as bad as some places I've been. We got set up, that's all I'm really allowed to write, and they don't believe me, so I quit talking about it and talk to the my dog Billy, or to the walls, or my puppets, or anything to keep from going crazy in here. They read my mail, by the way, so remember: the pink mollusk sings the blues at dawn. (Hi, guys!)_

_I really appreciated your letter, though, and the postcards. I pinned them up on my wall, but the orderlies took 'em away, I'm afraid. Guess they don't appreciate bluebonnets, and besides, we all know how cuddly Germans are, eh? I mean, they're all into peace and goodwill nowadays, and are a major power in Europe and enjoy a robust economy, with an increasingly large stockpile of weapons and…LOOK OUT! __**THEY'RE**__**COMING**__! (Ha ha! Made you look!)_

_The weather must be hot where you are, but the rains are coming now, I'm sure, and soon it'll be an 85-degree cool front, and y'all will be setting up for Hallowe'en (my least favorite holiday) and Thanksgiving. I don't know what it's like out here – I don't get outside much. I'm a troublemaker, so my yard privileges are limited to a whopping zilch. I hope you've been down to Liberty Hill and jumped in the Blue Hole. Say hello to the San Gabriel for me. _

_Ever since we talked about that, I've been thinking a lot about home – call it the Highway 29 Blues, if you like. Not much for me to go back to, in Bertram though, except the plot in the South San Gabriel cemetery. The house I grew up in belongs to somebody else now, anyway. I don't think I'll ever see it again._

_Oops, it's lights out! _

_Later, _

_Capt. James Murdock, USA, semi-retired, down but never out_

She wiped a tear from her eye, smiling softly, and watched Nyda run up to her, carrying the ball and dancing happily. She scratched the dog's ears and glanced up when she heard the screen door open, screeching on its hinges. "Madelia?" The clouds were darkening, and she saw a flash of lightning across the sky, streaking from cloud to cloud.

"I'll be in directly," she said. The dog bounded away from her and up the steps to her mother.

"We've got baking to do, darlin', and it's fixin' to rain calves and heifers," Anne Morgan told her. She bent to scratch the dog's ears and watched her youngest child get up and trail listlessly up the steps onto the porch. Almost as soon as she was under the eaves, the rain started pouring down in sheets, the wind picking up and blowing across the lake like a fleet of Army helicopters – this storm was going to be rated R for violence. "Thank God for the rain." Anne Morgan was an attractive woman in her late fifties, her trim figure having suffered little from bearing seven children and losing her husband when Maddie was only eight. As usual, her hands were covered with flour, and her chef's apron was splattered with chocolate sauce and cake mixes. She and Maddie had been cooking and baking all day, and were only less than half done.

"Indeed."

"You've seen so depressed lately, honey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Maddie smiled at her mother. "Let's go bake."

* * *

"Mr Murdock, you've got a letter from…" the nurse looked down at the envelope. "Captain Morgan? Really? A pirate?"

Murdock snatched the letter away from her and nodded. "Aye. A right scurvy dog, too…" He flapped the envelope a little, hoping that she would get bored and walk away, but the nurse continued to study him. "We play chess by mail."

"A chess-playing pirate?"

"Well, _yeah_. What other kind is there? Go 'way now, wouldja?"

"We don't even have a chess set here, Mr Murdock," she pointed out.

"That's _Captain_ Murdock, thank you, and go _away_." He looked down at his slippered feet, and the striped pajamas he was wearing, and the ratty bathrobe that completed his daily outfit. They had taken his cap from him, as a punishment for some minor infraction a few weeks ago, and he had replaced it with an old aviator cap he had found in the rec room. He hadn't shaved in five days, and so he knew he had a pretty rough growth of stubble that was edging toward a beard, but he wasn't allowed to have razors or anything sharp for that matter, unless it was Thursday and time for Willet's Swahili lesson. Today was Tuesday, so no shave. His hair was also getting long and even more shaggy than usual. Frankly, he knew he looked like hell, but in a psych hospital, who gave a damn? He had been here four months now and knew they weren't interested in his _appearance_.

The nurse was still standing there. He knew that a lot of the staff was curious about his 'correspondence' with someone from Texas, but he had stubbornly refused to reveal anything to them about who was sending them, and he knew there were rumors floating around that they were from a woman. That had gotten him a few speculative looks from the nurses, but this one – her name was Claire – was new and he had caught her looking at him with more than just mild interest, and that made him nervous.

"So…who is she?" Claire asked him.

"Who is who?" He sighed and stuffed the envelope in his robe pocket. "Oh. The letter-writer? Well…a person of letters, obviously."

"A woman, though, right?"

"Right."

"Girlfriend?"

"Nope."

Claire crossed her arms. She was pretty and petite, with dark blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and she was indeed studying Murdock with more than just a little clinical interest. While she was pretty, he didn't like the coldness of her – she reminded him of a lizard. A pretty but unfeeling lizard, like the anoles he had chased as a child. "So you and she are not…involved?"

"Nope." He looked around the exercise yard, where the patients were allowed out for a few hours a day if they behaved properly. He had been on his best behavior the past three weeks, which had earned him time outside and a trip to the hospital library, where he had picked out _The Grapes of Wrath_, a book on trigonometry, and a biography of Peter Sellers, just to confuse everybody. Nonetheless, he always had to have somebody with him, to make sure he behaved properly. The worst he had done was count the linoleum blocks along the hallway, and he planned on giving each block a name when it came time to return the books. "Can I just…read this alone…please?"

The young nurse finally shrugged and walked away. He hurriedly ripped it open and pulled out the sheaf of paper, unfolding it carefully and running his fingers along the folds. He glanced around before lifting it to his nose and breathing in the scent – not perfume, but the heady scent of _chocolate_. Too bad he couldn't get that kind of contraband here, but the smell was almost as good. Almost.

_James Murdo-C-K,_

_Yes, as a matter of fact, I am related to Sir Henry Morgan. I'm surprised it took you this long to ask. I am descended from his brother, actually. I do not, however, have any inclination toward attacking or looting any cities in Panama, and I sincerely do not recommend any such course of action. I am not, however, surprised, to know that you and your team did a mission in Panama, but I am glad to know you did not burn the country to the ground. _

_I hope you are in good health, and are taking good care of yourself. Even more, I hope the staff at that hospital is treating you well and are remembering your honorable service to your country. Don't let them push you around, either way._

_We are in the throes of early autumn here. The Labor Day weekend was extremely busy, and I believe I must have baked at least 6000 cookies and half as many cakes. My brothers went fishing down at Turkey Bend and filled three huge ice chests with channel cat – just fillets – and could barely get them closed. We're having a fish fry tomorrow evening, with every Morgan within a fifty-mile radius coming to take part. The weather has cooled a good bit, I'm happy to report. We're down in the mid-eighties most days, but the humidity is awful and I hate being outdoors in it. My mother and I are repainting the gazebo that overlooks the lake, and I think I applied more sweat to its floorboards than actual paint. The hotel dock also requires repair and my brothers will be tackling that one soon, I hope. _

Claire interrupted Murdock again. "Mr Murdock, it's time to go in."

He glared at her, but stood up and reluctantly followed her back into the building. He loped down the hall, passing several other inmates of the facility – so many of them clearly of the 'checked-out' variety, and thus allowed to wander about almost at will, being so zorked out that they were harmless. Murdock felt a lot of sympathy for them, but he had no idea how to help any of them. They were beyond his capabilities. So many things were, these days.

Claire led him to his room, and he went in without resisting this time, being eager to finish reading the letter. But the nurse didn't seem eager to leave him alone, and he stuffed it back in his robe pocket.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked her patiently. When she moved closer, he backed away, eyeing her warily. This was sort of new to him, but he knew what she was after. "Uh…this some kinda clinical trial?"

"You could call it that," she said, pressing against him and undoing the belt on his bathrobe. She slipped her hands around his waist and rose up to try to kiss him, but he jerked away from her, and she looked a little _vexed_. "What's the matter with you?"

"Uh…hello, I believe I'm locked up in a mental hospital, so question asked, question answered. And have you ever heard of that pesky little 'professional ethics' thing?"

"What, you don't want to get laid, is that it?" she said, looking irritated. "Listen, _Captain_, all I have to do is scream and you're locked up in solitary – the bouncy room, probably for several days. Maybe even weeks."

"First of all, these people know I'm not into forcin' myself on women, and second, I don't want you touchin' me, as I don't know where you've been. So beat it, okay?"

Claire moved fast – before he could even react, she had snatched the letter out of his pocket and Murdock watched with horror and growing anger as she tore the letter to pieces. Her cold sneer made him want to strike her – to wipe that triumphant look off her face. But he clenched his fists instead, unable to hit a woman, even if she was asking for it. She looked downright smug when she saw his frustration, and once she was finished tearing the letter into tiny pieces, she dropped them on the floor and left, locking the door behind her.

"And they call me the psycho," he said softly, dropping to his knees to snatch up the pieces of the letter. He scrambled over to the door and leaned against it, trying to put the letter back together, like a puzzle. But Claire had been thorough – it would take hours to piece it back together.

Murdock rarely cried about anything any more. That sort of thing was all 'been and gone', as his mother had called situations like spilled milk and disappointment. But this was more than just spilled milk. It was more than just a disappointment. He recognized Claire's gesture for what it was – a cruel attempt at cutting off his link to the world outside. It wasn't as though he could get letters from Hannibal or Face or B.A. – he wasn't allowed to communicate with them at all. He had no family to hear from. Maddie was the only link he had, and the letter – and the other seven letters he had stashed in a hole in his mattress – was a tangible reminder that there was something out there beyond the walls and chain fences of the psych hospital. Maybe even a friend.

Blinking back his tears, and finally wiping them away with the heels of his palms, he gathered up the pieces of torn paper and went to his chest of drawers. Willet had given him some Scotch tape, and he dug around under his clothes until he found it. Sitting on the bed, he poured the pieces of paper on the blanket and began sorting them carefully. He had all night to put it back together, and since he had nothing else to do, he would sit up until he was able to read the rest.

Aside from that, he could only wait.


	8. Cinderfella

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 8

NOTE: Many of the roads and places mentioned below really do exist. Morgansville, Morgan County, Texas does _not_.

Song (just a snippet): Break It To Me Gently, by Juice Newton (I doubt anybody has ever heard of it)

* * *

Creating a diversion was relatively easy. The hospital staff was accustomed to Murdock occasionally going into full warp drive and creating havoc, and today was a perfect day for not just havoc, but utter and complete pandemonium (or, as his grandmother would put it, 'pandelirium'). When he received the package of 3-D glasses from 'Annabelle Smith', he had little trouble improvising a plan. But before he headed into the rec room, he snatched the letters from Maddie out of his mattress, sat down at his desk and scribbled out a quick note to her – he would mail it the first time he got to a mailbox.

_Maddie,_

_Congratulate me, baby. I'm blowing this Popsicle stand. Six months in this place has made me want some Blue Bell Millennium Sundae. I got a package today from Annabelle Smith, an old friend of mine. Will catch you on the flip side of twenty-nine. Paddle in the Blue Hole, and kiss St Gabriel's toe. Hey, that kinda rhymes! Maybe I'll buzz you one day. _

_Wish you were here, but I'm also glad you're not – things are fixin' to get kinda rough for a while, I suspect. _

_Capt James Murdock, USA_

He folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He snatched up the box of 3-D glasses and took off for the rec room. Murdock put the aviator cap on again and started passing out the glasses, knowing it would excite the other patients. He was soon making a game of it, eventually causing the first wave of havoc by knighting a few of the more active inmates and sending them on quests to trip over orderlies or knock over IV poles, smack clipboards out of nurses' hands, write obscene orders on the board – anything to create as much confusion as possible.

The doctors and nurses were trying to get them all to calm down, with orderlies running around trying to soothe everybody, suggesting doses of meds, a nice walk…whatever might work, but Murdock had them worked up into Force 10 frenzy by then, but when he looked up and saw El Diablo standing there with some other MP's, he knew the time had come for _action_. He began calling "Movie!" over and over, and pretty soon, everybody was doing the same, except for the frazzled orderlies and staff. One of the German doctors, throwing his hands in the air, yelled "_Fahren und befinden ein film als sie_!" and Murdock snickered as he took a seat near the front, lowering his body carefully so he wouldn't be noticed.

The rest of the patients calmed down a bit when they were guided to their seats. The screen was set up, and he glanced back to see Sosa and the other MP's watching, scanning the room to try and find him. Hannibal must be out – and Face and B.A., too, he thought. Otherwise, he would never have gotten the package at all, and Sosa wouldn't be _here_. He threw the box on the floor, kicking it away and causing a less-than-alert orderly to stumble over it. He heard one of the doctors say to Sosa, "I haven't seen him, actually. He might be in here, but…Mr Murdock! You have a visitor!"

He was using that patronizing tone one uses when speaking to the mentally ill and to puppies. Murdock sank even lower in his seat, concentrating on the screen and wondering what was going to happen. On the screen, a black van was racing up a dusty road, the opening credits flashing on the screen. When the Humvee crashed through the wall, the patients started applauding and cheering, overjoyed with the opening piece of the movie, and Murdock jumped out of his seat and headed forward, through the hole and toward the back door of the Humvee.

"Oh, Captain, your chariot awaits!" he heard Face yell in a broad English accent.

Gleeful, Murdock jumped into the huge military truck, waving to the crowd of zanies and bewildered orderlies flailing about. "Sorry boys, gotta run! Can't finish the movie. Do let me know how it ends!"

Face was yelling at El Diablo, who had been knocked down by the falling blocks of the wall, "Charissa, where you at? Hey, stay beautiful, baby!"

He jumped in, happier than he'd been in months. He patted his pants pocket, making sure Maddie's letters were still in there, along with his Airborne Rangers cap – he had stolen it back from one of the doctors' offices a couple of days before. Face patted him on the shoulder and would have hugged him if he hadn't poked his head out the window. "You should see these bullets in 3-D!" he yelled.

B.A. shouted at him, "Murdock, get in here!"

He heard Hannibal yell, "Punch it, B.A.!"

"It's like we're actually being shot at!" Murdock shouted gleefully as bullets whizzed past his head.

"We are getting shot at, you crazy ass fool!" B.A. yelled, gunning the Humvee's engine and taking off. Murdock finally pulled his head in and submitted to Face pounding on his shoulder and Hannibal grinning at him. The Colonel's smile faded after a moment, though.

"You look thin, Captain."

"Oh. Well, you know…a guy can only tolerate so much German sausage, and I advise never to watch it being made. They ain't got no Elgin hot gut 'round these parts, and they sure don't have no good barbecue. They even tried to feed me tripe one day…"

"You're feeling all right otherwise, though?" Face asked, his expression becoming worried. Murdock knew he had lost a bit of weight, but he wondered if he really looked _that_ bad.

"Oh, I'm peachy keen, man. Where're we goin'?" he asked cheerfully, watching Face dig around in a duffle bag until he found Laffy Taffy. Murdock tore into a piece and popped it in his mouth – banana flavor. His favorite.

"Frankfurt," Hannibal said. "We need to get a plane first…"

"I get to _fly_? Really? Well, paint my toenails and call me Sally – that's damn good news, man. But…er…hey, if we pass a mailbox, can I drop off a letter?" He started singing Merle Haggard's 'I Can Fly' at the top of his lungs.

"Crazy ass fool…" B.A. muttered from behind the wheel. "Who you got to mail somethin' to?"

Murdock's mouth hardened a little, which Face noticed – when those green eyes narrowed and turned the color of slate, it meant the pilot was _displeased_ and everybody had better clear out of the room. When they turned black, he was pissed and people had better clear the whole freaking _country_, because an angry Murdock was a lot like the Tasmanian Devil – if the Tasmanian Devil had a sweet nature and could be soothed with Laffy Taffy. The lieutenant looked at him more closely, and Murdock grinned at him, though the slate color was still there.

"Hey, you got an El Diablo in your life, eh? Have you ever had a…a la Bruja?"

"What's a la Bruja?" Face asked, grabbing the door handle and yelping as the Humvee lurched to the right, almost knocking Murdock off balance. "Some kind of Mexican dish?"

"No…no…never mind." Murdock looked out the window, enjoying the scenery of the German countryside and several MP vehicles chasing them. He started humming the theme to _Bewitched_. When the airport loomed in sight and he saw the line of fighter jets, and the C-130, he started bouncing in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement. They ditched the Humvee, climbed over the chain link fence and Murdock challenged Face to beat him to the plane.

* * *

"We need to go to ground."

Hannibal sat back in his seat and studied B.A. and Murdock, who were seated across from him. Rain spattered on the window by their booth, and they all stared at it for a few moments before Face cleared his throat.

"What does 'go to ground' mean, exactly?"

"It's a fox-hunting term," Murdock informed him. "Means the fox goes into hiding until the hounds get tired of looking and go back home."

"Right," Hannibal nodded.

"Oh. I thought it meant faking our deaths or something. Do you have any idea how inconvenient death would be at this point?" Face said, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw. "Hell, it would be practically anti-climactic. 'A-Team Escapes, Only to Die of Food Poisoning at Greasy Spoon'." He fingered the spattered, laminated menu and shuddered.

They were in a very greasy spoon in some tiny town in Northern California. They had been pursued by Lynch for the past three days, and had managed to give him the slip at last, limping into the little town just before dawn and taking two rooms at a run-down motel next door to said greasy spoon. Since their arrival in town, the three men had crashed on the uncomfortable beds, sleeping like the dead for almost two days before taking their clothes to a laudromat and sitting around in their cleanest dirty shirts and jeans, watching TV and only talking when necessary. All four were so hungry now that they were taking their chances with this run-down little place.

Their escape had made headlines, of course, and so they were doing their best to just keep their heads down and avoid trouble. Their waitress was, fortunately, a ditzy thing listening to her iPod and only half-hearing their respective orders. Murdock hoped he would at least get something _resembling_ his order of a grilled cheese sandwich.

He was distracted, too. Had been since being busted – literally – out of the psych hospital in Germany. Stealing a plane, having said plane blow up around him (and she had been a beauty – while sitting there on that dock by the lake, he had said a eulogy for her, much to B.A.'s dismay), flying the tank, landing in a lake, finding out Morrison was still alive (at the time anyway) and had betrayed them, and then getting shot in the head could distract the most stable of persons, and Murdock was not always very stable. He didn't feel quite so sane any more, either, and now a worry was niggling at the back of his mind, like a mouse chewing on shredded paper. He drummed his fingers on the table and stared out the window, watching the road for any cars that looked too official.

"Captain, listen, it's all right," Hannibal reassured him, seeing his uneasiness. "I coming up with a plan, and everything will be fine."

"I need to go to Texas, Colonel."

"Texas?" Hannibal looked surprised. "Murdock…"

Face shook his head. "I knew you were kind of _sweet_ on Captain Morgan, but I don't really think…"

"It's not that. It's not that at all," Murdock denied, knowing he was doing so a little too strongly. "There's…some letters."

"Letters?" B.A.'s eyes narrowed. "What letters?"

"We…I mean, Maddie and me…or is it I? Maddie and I…we…er…wrote to each other a little."

"How much is a little?" Hannibal asked him cautiously, leaning forward on his forearm and looking him in the eye, which meant business – he wanted details.

"Uh…about fifteen letters."

"Fifteen letters!" Face gasped. "I didn't write that many papers in college! You have fifteen letters from…_her_?"

"Uh…yeah, about that many." He watched Face's eyes widen with shock. "And there was this nurse there who kinda had it in for me. I mean, you'd think a woman'd consider it kinda decent of a guy to not want to sleep with a total stranger, but no, she was all over me like a cheap slut…which she was, I guess…and ever' time I told her 'no', she threw another conniption fit and only after another nurse complained – _she_ actually did like me - was she fired, but I think she might have been in cahoots with the other Lynch and maybe Pike, too, and so the new Lynch…tastes great, less filling but shoots to kill Lynch…may be…sort of…er…considering Maddie a…uh…person of…interest? I mean, they saw the letters, and probably the return address…and…uh…" He shoved his hand in his pocket and fingered the letters – he would never show them to Face. Or anybody else, for that matter. They were _his_, and even though he had memorized every line, he wouldn't give them up.

Hannibal, Face and B.A. gaped at Murdock, who got even more jittery. He swallowed nervously and almost did a long-jump from a seated position when the waitress arrived with their meals. Murdock's grilled cheese was a club sandwich, which was just as well, as he had lost his appetite.

"All right," Hannibal nodded. "I think that us separating would be a good idea, for now. We go in four directions, that's four directions Lynch has to take – kind of a strategic retreat…a war of attrition, in the classic General Nathaniel Greene tradition. If we're lucky, we can get him to concentrate on the three of us in California while Murdock heads back home. You can visit your family down there, anyway."

"I don't have any family down there," Murdock told him. "You mean…you mean, go by myself?"

"Sure. Lynch won't be looking for somebody traveling alone, anyway, and all you need is a shave and a haircut and you'd look like a different person. Yes, I think this is a good idea. Lay low, relax a bit – that'll be a good thing for you, Murdock, actually – and you can keep an eye on Maddie, make sure they don't bother her. We'll all lay low, until things cool off."

"And what if he does, you know…come around and start pestering her? What do I do then - call him out at high noon?"

Face grinned. "Do whatever you got to do to protect your woman, Murdock."

"She's not my woman!" Murdock objected, and winced at his friend's smirk.

"Just call him Tutenkhamun, King of Denial," Face snickered. Murdock took a bite of his grilled cheese cum club sandwich and wished his cheeks weren't pinking up.

Hannibal had a plan now and the more he thought about it, the more he considered the plan an excellent one. He leaned forward and grinned at his pilot, and began squaring it off and smoothing it down to something that he knew would really work for everyone involved. When he was done, everyone was satisfied.

For the first time in almost twenty years, James Murdock would be back on the hard limestone and cedar breaks that had spawned him.

Honestly, though, the very idea terrified him.

* * *

Murdock stopped his rental car outside the Morgansville Hotel and stared up at the huge old building. It was painted a chaste white with dark green trim, Victorian in design, complete with twin turrets with funny upside-down onion dome tops, a long and wide front porch perfect for sitting and doing nothing, and gingerbread carving everywhere. The lawns emerald green, like something out of a picture book. He noted new additions to the property – a tennis court, a discreet but pretty swimming pool, and along the lakeshore line, he saw several little cottages with private docks.

He had driven straight up to Morgansville from Austin, having rented a neon-blue Ford Focus that felt a lot like a PlaySkool car and shimmied if he went over sixty miles an hour. He had only made one stop, at the South San Gabriel Cemetery off of Highway 29 – the first blue-ribbon highway he had ever known - to put flowers on his grandparents' and mother's graves, and had otherwise kept moving, putting as much distance between himself and the city as he could in as little time as possible.

Central Texas was not and would never be known for its glorious fall colors, but the dry summer had meant that a lot of the oak foliage was a prettier-than-normal yellow, and some other trees added splashes of red and orange against the perfect, cloudless blue skies. Getting out of the car, he breathed in the scent of burning leaves and had to stand still for a moment, letting childhood memories wash over him. Except that, for him, he had smelled burning cedar more often than leaves, but it was still a wonderful scent.

Autumn was clearly an off season – there were only a few cars in the hotel parking lot. Walking up the steps, he paused to read a sign on the green lawn:

**HOTEL RESTAURANT HOURS**:

MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY:

Breakfast: 8am to 11am, Hotel Guests only

Lunch: 12pm to 3pm, Public

Supper: 5pm to 8pm, Public

SATURDAY: Hotel Guests Only, hours same as above

SUNDAY: Brunch, 10am to 1pm, Public

**MUSIC LESSONS**:

12pm until 3pm, Music Room, by appointment only

**DANCING LESSONS**:

4pm to 6pm, Ball Room, by appointment only

**WEDDINGS, BRIDAL SHOWERS, RECEPTIONS, CONFERENCES, LUNCHEONS, ETC**.

Available in various venues in hotel

**ALL OTHER EVENTS**: Please see schedule inside for details

Murdock frowned at the sign, wondering if he was a guest or a public. He wasn't sure he could afford a room here, considering his considerable lack of personal income. But if he was a public, perhaps he could become a personal guest if Maddie was willing to let him sleep on the back porch or something. He could string up a hammock…

As quietly as he could, he went into the hotel and paused in the front foyer, dazzled by the Victorian décor and sheer _elegance_ of the place. Thick Aubusson carpets covered the floors. The whole place was infested with mahogany and marble and crystal and fine original oil paintings and priceless antiques. He paused briefly to stare up at a full-length portrait of a tall, slender woman descending a flight of marble stairs. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place her, and so he continued on down the hallway toward what he hoped would be the front desk.

He was brought to a halt by the sound of someone singing. _Badly_. Or actually, it was two people. Female, possibly, but male cats were capable of high-pitched screeching, too. Whoever was trying to sing was being accompanied by a pianist who he suspected was practically suicidal by now. He recognized that the singers were trying to butcher 'Sing Sweet Nightingale', from _Cinderella_. The awful noise was coming from somewhere upstairs, and he moved quickly to get away from it. He made it into the area that he easily recognized as the front desk, but there was no one there. Instead, there was a sign that read 'Welcome to The Morgansville Hotel! Please Ring Bell for Service. If No Service Arrives, Please Sit Down and Wait and We Will Be With You Soon!'

He heard someone else singing, further away, and started toward that sound, as it was considerably more pleasant. Murdock paused at a set of French doors that opened into an open courtyard set right in the middle of the hotel, and finally stepped out, glancing up to see galleries on the second and third floors. The floor of the courtyard was very slightly concave, so that rainwater would pour right down through iron grillwork. A beautiful fountain, set in the middle of the courtyard, featured a somber-looking marble statue of a woman holding an urn which poured water into the pool. Japanese koi swam around inside, and Murdock had to resist the urge to tear off his shoes and go for a wade.

Instead, he continued toward the sound of singing. He finally recognized the song – an old one, and only vaguely familiar to him, but he paused to listen.

…_break it to me gently _

_Give me time, oh give me a little time to ease the pain _

_Love me just a little longer, 'cause I'll never, never love again _

_'Cause I'll never, no never love again…_

She was belting the song out with feeling, and Murdock trotted across the courtyard and up the steps, through the French doors and along a hall, hearing the singer humming cheerfully before launching into her own version of the song the girls upstairs were so cruelly murdering. He finally found what he was looking for – the hotel's huge, marble-floored, crystal chandeliered ballroom.

On the floor of the ballroom, cleaning it with a rag, a bucket of soapy water at her side, was Captain Maddie Morgan, singing as she worked. Murdock almost burst into laughter when she sat up, cocking her head to one side. She also could hear the horrible caterwauling from upstairs, because she winced and started singing 'Sing Sweet Nightingale' more loudly. She blew a bubble of soap off her hand and primped her hair – which was tied back with a handkerchief - as she saw herself in the bubble, and started giggling. "Those poor Miller girls…can't sing their way out of a sack." She went back on all fours again and resumed scrubbing the floor, singing the song beautifully, just like Cinderella.

At first, she didn't even realize he was standing there, watching her, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Only when she finally sat up and began rubbing her lower back did she turn her head and finally see him. She was on her feet in an instant, eyes wide with shock and then amusement.

"Captain Murdock!"

"I guess you didn't get my letter?" he stepped into the ballroom, but thought better of it before he left a footprint on her clean marble floor and stepped back out into the hall.

She didn't seem to care a bit about the floor – she rushed to him and only barely stopped herself from hugging him. "I did get it – you were blowing the Popsicle stand and…seeing me on the flip side of twenty-nine…I assumed you meant Highway twenty-nine?"

"Yep."

"And then you flew a tank…" She shook her head. "I read about that in the newspaper. If it had been anybody but you and your team, I would have thought it _impossible_." Maddie stepped back and looked up at him, seeming to be checking to make sure he was really there, and she also didn't seem to like how thin he looked. "But all things are possible with God…and the A-Team, from what I hear."

"Well…don't compare us to God, please," he said, shrugging modestly. "That would be blasphemy."

She laughed. "Anyway…I assume you're looking for a place to stay for a while?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Uh…I can't really…afford a room, but…we're all trying to lay low for a bit…" He shrugged and winced when the singers upstairs hit another bad note. "We're kinda…wanted."

"Hm." She nodded. "I have to admit, I was kind of expecting you. You said you were going to buzz me some day – and I have a perfect place for you to stay, actually. Do you like haunted houses?"

"_La bruja_, I love 'em! Point me in its general direction!"


	9. Swales and Bluebells

Season of the Witch

Part 9

**Summary**: Murdock gets a place to live…sort of…and finally gets to eat Blue Bell ice cream. Which everyone should do, so they will know how ice cream is _supposed_ to taste.

**Note**: The Morgan family ghosts are inspired by Bailey White's hilarious "Mama Makes Up Her Mind". Read it!

This is a move-things-along filler chapter. Murdock will be in contact with the Team next chapter, I promise. They may even come along for a bit of a vacation themselves, actually. I haven't decided.

* * *

"Wait just a minute here…this is where I'm gonna live?"

Maddie nodded and took another stab at getting the key to work. She wiggled it a few times, muttered something about poor maintenance and rust, and finally began pushing the heavy oak door with her shoulder while jiggling the key in the lock. Murdock watched her with growing dismay, thinking that security levels at this place had gone from the diligent to the just plain ridiculous. She shoved again, took a deep breath, stepped back and fairly _ran_ at the door, slamming against it with all her strength. That seemed to do the trick – the door swung open and Maddie almost fell down, but Murdock caught her arm in time and pulled her back, so that she was flush against his chest. They both froze for a moment, but he made himself jump away, determinedly not looking at her. She straightened her T-shirt and turned away, stepping into the house.

"I think I broke my shoulder," she said, moving her arm in circles. "C'mon in. This is Swale House."

"Wha-who House?" Murdock stepped in behind her, and looked anxiously around the front hall of the oversized old house. He had told her loved ghosts, but he wasn't entirely sure that he loved living in a house full of them, and particularly a huge Italianate Victorian that might prove troublesome about getting out of if necessary. He ran his hand along the wall to his left and encountered a _spider web_, which caused him to yelp and jump away in fright. "Uh…Maddie, I don't know about this…"

"Swale House. Built in eighteen-forty-nine, but the front part of it burned down in eighteen-fifty-five and thus rebuilt and finished by eighteen-sixty-two. Listen, you're on the run from the military police, right? I can't have you in the hotel. Too dangerous. This is the perfect hideout. And considering the company you run with, you've doubtless stayed in far less pleasant places, right? You'll be earning an income here, too – as a caretaker-slash-handyman. The Morgan family owns this place – it's the oldest house in the county, and we're thinking about turning it into a museum of sorts some day, but right now it needs some TLC and frankly a lot of upgrading and repairing. Rotten floorboards, water seepage here and there, but the house has wonderful _bones_, and with the right kind of work, it'll be on the National Register of Historic Homes…"

She was walking through the house as she talked, with Murdock keeping up with her only because he was nervous about being by himself in the front hall and also because he was now thinking about _bones_. Still – he was becoming extremely curious about his new digs, and frankly, any place was better than the VA.

They passed through enormous rooms separated by pocket doors. Antique furniture was covered by dropcloths; built-in glass-fronted cabinets contained ancient heirlooms, while mysterious doorways led to dark and pokey rooms once used for storing linens and china and silverware, and the like. In the cavernous dining room he encountered a long dining table laid out with a set of china that was probably older than _Texas_ and a huge cabinet loaded with even more china. He skittered along behind Maddie, becoming more and more anxious and excited as she led him into the kitchen.

All in all, it was something to _do_, and in spite of his nervousness, he was eager to see it all and see what he could accomplish.

"This is the place that needs the most work, of course," she said, sweeping her arm around the _huge_ room. An old woodstove occupied one corner of the room, giving off hostile vibes, and an old-fashioned farm sink took up space under a set of windows looking out over the lake. Out a set of French doors was a brick patio, but the patio was overgrown with grass and wattle and looked dreadful. The kitchen floor was stone-flagged and ferociously dirty. None of the fixtures were even remotely modern. He wasn't even sure if the water worked, and a tentative turn of a knob at the sink yielded brown water. He turned it off quickly and stepped back, appalled.

"My God…" he said under his breath.

"Yes. He is. But the house is also haunted!" Maddie said excitedly. "You'll love it in here, I know. They're friendly ghosts – or at least, benign. They're eating ghosts."

"_What_ing ghosts?" he said, turning back to look at her again, eyes narrowing. "What do they eat?"

"Oh, jelly and the like, usually. They're ancient ancestral ghosts, actually. Started out in Wales, actually. All the Morgans of our particular line allege to have them in their respective homes…"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding…"

"I am not kidding, sir," Maddie said with some dignity. "The Morgans have reported the sound of forks and knives scraping on china plates at night, usually from the dining room, for generations. They would come down to find pieces of bread and jars of jelly missing…that sort of thing. And when they'd look out in the garden, they'd see these silvery trails, like what snails leave behind, and…"

"Okay, now, pull the other one, okay? Get the Ghost Hunters down here as you please, but…"

"I'm not kidding, Captain," Maddie said, putting her hands on her hips and facing him. "This house has ghosts. We do not have ghosts at the Morgan, though, as it was built by a Mason who married a Morgan girl…"

"And what'd the Masons bring? Ghosts that carve out soap pistols at night?"

"Very funny. The Mason line died out and that Morgan girl's nephew inherited the place and it's been in the Morgan family since eighteen-eighty. C'mon, let's go explore the rest of the place. You're gonna love it."

Maddie and Murdock spent the remainder of the day exploring the mansion. He peered anxiously into cavernous bedrooms and closets the size of rent-controlled apartments in New York City. He was accidentally shocked by a persnickety lightswitch, but declared that it was no worse than what he endured back at the VA. They examined waterstained ceilings, found a stack of _Harper's Weekly_ magazines from the early 1900's, were creeped out by a collection of old porcelain dolls stored together in a small room, and came upon a rat's nest in one room (where they only stayed for a few seconds before scrambling back _out)_ that Maddie described as 'the birthing room'. They wandered down to the mansion's cellar and encountered more spiderwebs than could be found in a rain forest and thus did not hand around for long, and Murdock almost had a heart attack when a bat divebombed him on its way to freedom.

They concluded the tour of the mansion on the back porch of the mansion, looking out over the lake, Murdock testing his pulse and Maddie trying desperately not to laugh at him. "I'm very serious, Captain. This is the perfect place for you to be. You'll be fully active, all day, and there's a sleeping porch over there…" She pointed at the screened-in room at the end of the porch. "There's cool breezes off the lake, and by the time winter comes around, I'm sure you'll have at least one room in good shape for sleeping and will be hard at work on the others. Fully occupied, never bored – that's the most important thing. You bored is a dangerous thing."

He sat back in the semi-broken-down wicker chair he had gingerly sat on and glared at her. "This is some kind of joke, right? Who do I look like? Ty Pennington?"

Maddie eyed Murdock for a moment, taking in his lean, wiry physique and well-defined arms. He looked a little thinner than when she'd last seen him, more than eight months before, but she knew that some good home cooking and fresh air and sunshine would rectify that pretty soon. What he needed, clearly, was _peace_, and not just quiet, but a place where he wouldn't be pressured or mistreated. This mansion, for all its troubles and its unwanted furry occupants, was peaceful. Even with the ghosts, it was a cheerful place, and had no unhappy or evil vibes. Even as a child, seeking the thrill of sleeping in a haunted old mansion, she hadn't been even vaguely frightened inside Swale House. Even the ghosts that ventured upstairs were friendly, as far as she was concerned. Even helpful in their way.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. You need to be occupied. You're easily bored, aren't you? An agile mind, an active imagination, and a very strong will, right? Okay then…being busy during the day makes one quiet at night – sound sleep, too tired for nightmares. You'll get good, _free_ meals at the hotel, and we'll get you a car, too. You'll be paid for working here, and the salary will be very reasonable, and there's already a budget set aside for the work that needs to be done here, plus no one will really notice you here."

"So I'm a kept man, is that it?" he asked her. Maddie blushed and looked out at the water.

"Hardly. You're being kept _occupied_, and are welcome here as long as you want to stay."

He nodded. "All right. Fine. I can use a skillsaw…and I'll need other equipment, too, I reckon. I'm good with my hands."

"I'm sure you are, Captain," she said, and her cheeks turned pinker when she saw his eyebrow lift.

* * *

They walked back toward the hotel, through the large pasture that separated the two properties. "They call this the Swale, because of the dip in the ground, over yonder," she said, gesturing toward a stand of willows that clearly indicated the presence of water nearby. They walked over a short bridge that spanned the surprisingly deep creek that went through the pasture. "The springs are up there," she said, turning to point to another stand of trees – willows, pecans and oaks. "The water is ice-cold, and there's the springhouse," she pointed at a low stone building near the hotel. When they crossed the creek, she led him down to the willows, and they watched the water flow over the rocks and down to the lake, and then walked to the small gated cemetery. "This is where the Morgans were buried until nineteen-twenty," she told him. "By the way, did you stop in Bertram?"

"Yep. Put flowers on my mom's grave, and my grandparents'," he nodded.

"What about your father? Where is he?"

"Beats me." He shrugged. "He took off not long after I was born – I guess he wasn't into being a father. My grandparents were my mother's parents. I wouldn't know him from Adam. Don't want to, either. His name was Paul Murdock. That's all I know."

"Oh." They sat down on a concrete bench near a gravestone that read 'William Morgan, Sept 9 1809 – Aug 22 1903'. She smiled at the gravestone. "He fought in the Texas War for Independence, then in the Mexican War, then the Civil War, and his father fought in the War of Eighteen-Twelve, and _his_ father fought in the Revolutionary War. William's son also fought in the Civil War and _his_ son rode up San Juan Hill - or actually ran up it, as nobody really rode up anything in Cuba, and _his_ son fought in the Great War, and then _his_ son fought in World War Two and Korea, and then my father fought in Vietnam, and all six of my brothers served in the Army…"

Murdock got up and touched the gravestone. "He was your…great-great-grandfather?"

"Five 'greats'," Maddie laughed. "There's only a few of the Morgans still here - the state wanted to move him to a big military cemetery near Fort Hood, but we vetoed that. He died here, and would have haunted us big-time if we've moved him. John and his wife and their sons are all here, and a few grandchildren. The rest of his descendants are all buried at the local cemetery, though - you'll find them easily enough, from all the American flags at the headstones. The Morgans are very much military - Army through and through. When a cousin of mine thought about joinin' the Navy, we threatened to disown him. I was just followin' a family tradition when I joined the Army. Other stuff hadn't worked out too well for me, anyway, and so the Army was a great choice – it gave me focus and discipline."

He nodded. "Did the same for me, I think." He sat down beside her again. "Kept me from goin' completely wacko, anyway."

She shrugged. "I was tired of not having any control of things, and for better or worse, the Army gave me some control, but I'm still learning that I don't actually have much control of anything…but I am getting better at it, I think. Accepting the lack of control, I mean."

"So…you're retired now?" he asked, watching a pair of little Mexican doves land near a gravestone and begin waddling around, looking for food.

"Uh…not really. I might get a call in the future…" She glanced at him. "The DOD actually kind of…wants me."

"Logistics again?" His expression became wary.

"No…" Maddie shook her head. "Let's go back to the hotel. Do you have any luggage with you?"

"Just a duffel bag, and not much in it. I don't have a lot of…things." He shrugged, standing up. "No bank account, either. Travel light, that's my philosophy."

"Just some of those T-shirts of yours, and several pairs of cargo pants, and some Chuck Taylors?"

He grinned. "_Si, La Bruja_."

Maddie raised her eyebrow at him. "_La Bruja_? I'm a witch?"

"Er…yeah…but it's not intended to be an insult."

"Hm. I'll take that under advisement, Captain. Otherwise, I'll have to go buy a bunch of stick-on warts. C'mon, let's go back to the hotel. You clearly need a good meal, and we have Blue Bell in the freezer."

"What flavor?" he asked her excitedly, bouncing up and down like a kid. She laughed.

"Millennium Sundae, Ultimate Neapolitan, Strawberries and Homemade Vanilla, Peaches'n'Cream, Milk Chocolate, Pecan Praline, and Blackberry Cobbler…and we also have…drum roll, please…_Bomb Sticks_!"

"Oh, my God oh my God oh my God! I'll race you for the Millennium Sundae!" He turned and took off a fast run, clearing the iron fence surrounding the cemetery with a foot to spare, but Maddie soon caught up with him. He leveled off and sprinted to the hotel's back porch, where a group of elderly people were sitting enjoying the cool breeze. They were startled by the wild-looking man booking it up the brick walkway and up the steps. He gave them all a friendly wave before rushing through the back door and into the house. Maddie, puffing a bit, climbed up the steps and smiled at the guests.

"Afternoon everyone…enjoying the breeze? It's a lovely evening, isn't it?"

One of the old ladies grinned at her. "That your boyfriend, sweetie?"

"Uh…"

Murdock pushed the screen door open. "Maddie, c'mon! Get your bohunkus in here, baby!"

"Oh…you're newlyweds! How sweet!" The old woman beamed at Maddie, who looked at Murdock, and he grinned at the old woman.

"Yeah, we're gonna go have wild, screamin' pig sex in the ice cream…honeymoon tradition, doncha know…" He grabbed Maddie's arm and dragged her into the house, letting the screen door bang shut behind them. Maddie smacked him on the arm.

"Don't say stuff like that!" she hissed.

"Why not?" He shrugged. "Which way's the kitchen, baby? Hurry! I need Blue Bell!"

* * *

They sat in the family kitchen, eating ice cream and bickering about the best flavors Blue Bell had put out over the years. Murdock was a great believer in Milk Chocolate and refused to back down from that particular doctrine. Maddie was definitely a member of the Peaches'n'Cream denomination and declared his beliefs to be pure heresy, but they did agree that Homemade Vanilla was really the standard by which all other flavors were measured. Finally, having stuffed themselves with the best damned ice cream in the world, bar none, they trailed back out to the back porch and sat down, the old folks having tottered off for a rousing game of bridge in the front parlor.

"Why do I get the feeling you've had all this planned out from the get-go?" Murdock asked, stretching his legs out and propping his feet on the porch railing.

"I did give it a bit of thought, I admit," she answered, yawning. "Consider this a vacation of sorts. A working vacation, yes, but you'll be fully occupied and thus will not get bored. Think about that – you'll have your freedom, too. You can come and go as you please. And you'll be getting a bit of cash, too, and I've already informed my mother of the fact that I'm hiring a handyman to work on Swale House, so…"

"She doesn't know I'm a fugitive from injustice?" he asked. "And you do the hiring around here?"

"I'm on the Morgan Family Trust board," Maddie shrugged. "I'm given my head so far as hiring and firing _estate_ workers, and Swale House is part of the estate. I don't hire hotel staff. Mama does that, since she lives and works here year-round."

"Where do you live?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "You'll just laugh."

"I tend to, yeah, but go on."

"Okay. See that house right on the water?" She pointed to a pretty, not-overly-large yellow-painted cottage on the edge of the lake, with its own little dock stretching away from its front porch. "Rose Cottage."

"Oh, you're joking again…" he laughed and she sighed.

"No. I'm not. It's got rose bushes all around it, and there's a definite rose décor inside, so…Rose Cottage. Three bedrooms, two baths, big rooms, great kitchen, hardwood floors…the works." She gestured to the other cottages lining the lakeshore. "There's ten other cottages on the estate, for honeymooners and suchlike – folks that want privacy. Wisteria Cottage, Magnolia Cottage, Sweetwilliam Cottage, Bluebonnet Cottage…" She sighed. "My mother got a little over-enthusiastic about it, I'm afraid. We only built those cottages about twenty years ago, and they've been a huge hit. When I came back from Russia with a twisted knee and my ballet career in shambles, Mama talked me into moving in there, but then I joined the Army and…" Maddie shrugged. "Well, now I'm back. Trying to figure out what I'll do next."

"So you did dance with the Bolshoi."

She smiled and nodded. "I did. But I had a pretty bad fall one day, during rehearsal, and…that was that. I still teach ballet, but I can't endure the grind of it for long - you know what they say: if football was easy, they'd call it ballet. But my knee won't take it. Odd that the Army had no qualms about my knee."

Murdock, growing drowsy, settled back in the chair, about to fall into an ice cream-induced coma for the rest of the evening, nodded absently. "I can't say as I have many qualms about your knees, either."

Maddie pinked and looked at him, but saw that he had fallen asleep, so relaxed it was a wonder he wasn't just a puddle. She smiled and shook her head.

"Welcome home, Captain."


	10. Seldom

Season of the Witch

Part 10

Song: Guacamole, by The Texas Tornados. (It's a very fun song, by the way)

* * *

"Murdock, what on _earth _are you doing on the roof?" Maddie shouted up at the pilot, shielding her eyes from the sun. He peeked down at her over the edge of the roof and grinned.

"Patchin' holes, yodi-odie," he called back. "There's more holes up here than the case against…against somebody who was clearly innocent…no, wait, Swiss cheese. But I hate Swiss cheese. Tastes like feet. Anyhow, I'm workin'. Whatcha want?"

"I brought you some dinner!" she yelled back, holding up a picnic basket. "Aren't you hot?"

"I'm always hot, baby," he called back. "And I'm hungry, too, so I'll be down there right quick."

Maddie watched in horror as Murdock swung down from his spot on the roof, let himself slide down to the gutter, grabbed the flagpole, swung down as gracefully as an acrobat, stepped onto the porch roof, dropped down and took three balanced steps along the rail and jumped down, turning a somersault before he landed in front of the azalea bushes. He bowed and grinned happily at her, but she was too terrified to be impressed. She stood there, hand at her throat, wondering if she was going to need a defibrillator. And not just because of his acrobatic escapades – he was shirtless, clad only in a pair of paint-splattered and very faded jeans. He was lean and tanned and muscled, with a nice amount of dark chest hair, more than a few battle scars and that Army Ranger tattoo on his bulging bicep. She blinked a couple of times, shook herself out of the natural urge to just stand there gaping at him, and kick-started her outrage.

"Don't you ever do that when I can see you!" she scolded. "You could have been killed!"

"Aw, hell, that ain't nothin'. I've been perfecting my house-climbing skills these past coupla days," he informed her, pawing at the picnic basket, but she dodged away from him and led him up to the porch and around to the back. He picked up a black T-shirt from a lawn chair and pulled it on, which was pretty damned disappointing for her hormones but probably for the best.

They sat down on the wicker chairs, balanced themselves carefully to avoid breakage, and she opened the basket. She extracted sandwiches, a tub of potato salad, a bag of Cheetos, two china plates and a set of forks.

"Tuck in, Captain," she said, handing him a plate. He unwrapped his sandwich and raised his eyebrows.

"You cut the crusts off…what, you don't want my hair to curl?" He took a bite and sighed happily. "Damn good…homemade mayo?"

"Mama wouldn't allow any other kind in her house, 'xcept Hellman's in a pinch," Maddie told him. "Ham is from a local pig farmer, and the cheese was made at a dairy up the road – only dairy in this part of the state, actually. I was going to add mustard, but wasn't sure if you'd like it."

"I don't." He ate the rest of the sandwich, then dug in the basket, looking for whatever else might be in there. "Aha! Blue Bell cups!" He opened one of the tiny cups of chocolate ice cream and dug in with the little wooden spoon that came with it. He took a bite and closed his eyes, sighing happily. Maddie watched him, trying not to notice his surprisingly long eyelashes, or how dangerously sexy he looked in those soft, comfy jeans and that rather dirty T-shirt.

"Eat your potato salad first! Dessert is for later!" she scolded, jerking herself out of her hormones again.

"If we don't eat it now, it'll just melt," he pointed out. "Then again, we don't eat the tater salad now and save it for later, we _die_ in a very dramatic fashion. Hm…okay." He opened the tub and scooped some on his plate, taking a bite. "Oh, this is good, baby. Your mama make it?"

"I made it," Maddie informed him haughtily.

"Oh, damn…nothin' better'n a girl who can cook and still will."

"I've yet to involve a microwave oven in preparing a full meal. Yeah, I'll use it if I have to heat up something, but otherwise…we Morgan women insist on cooking from scratch."

"Good for you." He ate all of his potato salad, then dug back into his ice cream. "But my granny always said that potato salad was for construction workers, and never would serve it on her good china. Not that she had a lot of good china – just some odd pieces here and there. She had one plate her great-great-great-grandmother hauled to Texas from Tennessee. Just a tiny chip on it, but it looked nice enough. I wonder where it is…" His brow furrowed, trying to mentally trace the heirloom, but soon gave up. "I bet my cousin in San Angelo has it. She took everything she could get her hands on, the grasping little cow."

"This is my fourth-best," Maddie said, holding up her plate. "I'm a Southern girl of the Texas breed, remember. I never serve it on my _best_ china, but I do serve it."

A memory clicked in Murdock's mind as he stared at the back of the plate she was holding up. It said 'Corning'. He looked down at his plate and frowned. "I was eleven months old when they realized there was somethin'…_seldom_ about me."

"Seldom?" Maddie sat back in the wicker chair and studied him. He was _seldom_, for sure. For the past two weeks, he had been hard at work on the old house. First patching the roof, which was to say the least an on-going affair, but he was making great headway so far, he had told her, and was about three-quarters finished with repairing all its holes and getting rid of rotten or broken tiles up there and replacing them. He had also fixed up a room upstairs for himself – one of the few that hadn't been affected by bad weather, near the front of the house. Maddie had glimpsed it one day when searching for him – it was so bare and Spartan that it kind of wrenched at her heart. Just a simple Army cot, a foot locker and nothing else. He barely had anything to wear _besides_ the ubiquitous T-shirts and cargo pants and she was seriously considering dragging him to Austin to do some shopping. She had a feeling, however, that he'd veer off to the Dollar Store instead and buy more pairs of jeans and more T-shirts, plus maybe some socks and boxer shorts. He didn't seem like he was much into _clothes_, and the thought that he traveled light, always ready to move, was more than a little troubling to her.

Nonetheless, the work was good for him. He was getting fresh air and sunshine, and his eyes were bright, his skin tanning nicely, his muscles stronger and definitely more toned – Maddie had definitely noticed _that_. He was healthy, and while she was no psychologist, she knew calm when she saw it. He was still eccentric and off-the-wall in so many ways, but he wasn't stressed, and from what she could tell, he was happy. Which made her want to do a cartwheel. That's me again, Maddie thought, sitting back in her chair. Taking on projects. You'll never learn.

"Yeah. We were at the Bluebonnet Café, in Marble Falls…?" Off her nod, he continued. "I was eleven months old, and I had finished eatin' my meal and was kind of futzin' around with my plate. Mama asked me what it was I had in my hand, and I looked at the back and said 'Corning'."

Maddie raised her eyebrows, and Murdock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So you were already reading at eleven months?"

"I guess. I had never seen the word before, anyhow. Just…knew what it said. Ever see that movie…_Little Man Tate_? It was like that. When I was five, they took me to see some specialist of some kind in Austin and he said I was 'advanced'. Mama just said, 'Well, advanced or not, he's just a kid, so he's gonna go to school and play in the dirt like other kids'. So I did. But she was buyin' me books when I was three."

"Did you play sports?" Maddie's curiosity about Murdock would never be fully satisfied, she realized. She couldn't seem to wait to ask him more questions, every day, and only hoped she wasn't being irritating or too intrusive. He didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah. Football a little, but I was too skinny, but I had an arm like a cannon. So I did baseball, too. Bertram didn't have a high school, so I rode into Liberty Hill and finished school there." He yawned suddenly and stretched, and she blinked when he raised his arms and she got a glimpse of his hard, flat stomach again. No tan line. What, did he sunbathe in the nude up on the roof? Probably gave the birds quite a show…

"Uh…maybe you'd like to come over to the hotel tonight?" she asked. "We're…uh…getting ready for the Morgansville Fall Festival, and we need extra hands getting the decorations up, plus I think you ought to meet my mother at least…"

"Haven't told her you've got a nutter living in Swale House?" he grinned at her.

"You are not a nutter!" Maddie told him, aggravated. "Stop saying you are, and maybe you'll stop believing you are. Ever thought of that?"

"Not…really." He shrugged. "What about you? Did you play sports in school?"

"Girls' baseball," she smiled. "My ballet teacher nearly had a stroke when I told her I was going out for it. But I played freshman through graduation. I wasn't _great_, but I was good and I was a power hitter. It actually did a lot for my legs, you know? Plus I did gymnastics…"

"Mm…bet you looked cuter'n hell in that uniform," he said with a leering little wink.

"Oh!" Maddie stood up, feigning indignation but blushing just the same. "That's enough, Captain. I'm going back to the hotel. Will you come…about six o'clock?"

"Sure, _La Bruja_. And I'll bet you looked pretty hot in spandex and leotards, too."

"Oh…you…" She made to whack him with the picnic basket, but he got away from her and was soon clambering back up to the rooftop, out of her reach, and she huffed with indignation when his black T-shirt hit her in the face. She smelled sweat and some kind of pleasant aftershave and…was that _curry_?

"And I'll bet ya wowed 'em in the tutu, too…oh, hey…tutu too…that's funny…" He was soon back up on the roof, where he had been when she'd found him. "I'd love to see you in that thing some day, actually."

"Only in your dreams, Captain Murdock!" she yelled back at him.

She thought she heard him say something that sounded like 'damn right', but she wasn't sure. Exasperated, Maddie snatched up the picnic basket and gathered up the remains of their lunch. She started walking back across the pasture, and paused to listen to the sound of him hammering and whistling, and soon _singing_. She stopped and listened.

_Well I met her at the Mercado_

_She was buying acavados_

_Man…she really turned me on!_

_She reached for my peppers _

_I grabbed her tomatoes_

_And I knew it wouldn't be very long!_

_She went to the mesa_

_I grabbed my cerveza_

_I got the onions and lemon_

_And the way she looked at me_

_I could clearly see_

_That it wouldn't be very long_

_Guacamole!_

_Guacamole!_

_We'd be makin' guacamole all night long!_

Yes, Captain Murdock was happy. She smiled to herself and picked up her pace back to the hotel. There was lots of work to be done, and a good deal of humiliation was going to be involved before it was all well and done.

"Hey!"

She looked up and he was waving at her, standing close to the edge of the roof, which was enough to send her right back into stroke territory.

"You got that wrong t'other day, y'know. If football was really hard, they'd call it _ballet_!" He grinned, pleased with himself, and she rolled her eyes.

"I get things backwards sometimes!" she called back. "How'd'ya think I ended up with a gimpy knee? Now get away from the edge of that roof!"

She continued on, and heard him singing more loudly now, hammering away and keeping the beat to the bouncy song.

_She headed for the light_

_And I fell in right behind_

_Man…she sure looked good to me!_

_She reached for her money_

_And I said, 'Wait a minute honey,_

_I believe this one is on me!'_

_We went to her casa_

_Tortillas de masa_

_And made guacamole all night long!_

_

* * *

_

"Ow! Stop it! No…no, wait. I can take it. Okay…now…again!" Maddie took a deep breath and the young woman behind her pulled on the strings again.

"Hold still, _Scarlett_," Charlotte Morgan gasped, hauling back on the strings of the corset. "I don't know…ooph…why you do this every year! One day, you're gonna crack a friggin' rib!"

"Shut up and pull, dammit!" Maddie ordered, grasping the bedpost and letting her cousin continue to abuse her. She was determined to get herself into the vintage Worth gown this year, even if it killed her – except that this year, it might just do that. She looked at the red and black gown spread out on the bed, closed her eyes, exhaled and held on tighter to the bedpost. One last, desperate tug and the bed jerked to the side, Maddie yelping painfully. Charlotte wiped her brow and blew out her cheeks, but seemed satisfied and began tying the knots, muttering under her breath about 'vanity'.

"Oh, shut up," Maddie squeaked. Her voice always went up an octave when she wore the dress for the annual Autumn Ball at the Morgan. In her younger days, it had gone on pretty easily, and even now, when a corset was necessary to squeeze into it, she didn't make the material stretch a _lot_ when she winched herself into it. Still, her mother and her grandmother had worn this damned dress several times over the years (until childbearing and common sense deemed it otherwise impossible), and Maddie knew she had a slightly vain streak. Particularly now that an allegedly crazy but otherwise rather attractive man was occupying Swale House. Ever since he had moved in over there, she had found herself studying her image in her mirror, wishing she looked a little less…_military _and more like a normal female girlperson.

She shook thoughts of him out of her head and turned to face Charlotte, who was staring at her, wide-eyed.

"You look kind of…pop-eyed," Charlotte said. "In fact, one of your eyes might pop right out if somebody has to give you mouth-to-mouth."

"Zip it and help me…into the…the dress…" Maddie had practiced alternative breathing methods, when squeezed into a corset and a ball gown. Mainly it involved speaking through clenched teeth and breathing in short little gasps, never through her mouth. "Move it!"

Charlotte scrambled for the dress, and began pulling it down over Maddie's head. She was definitely out of breath by the time her cousin had it settled, pulling the crinolines and silk and ribbons down into their proper places. Charlotte tugged at the sleeves, arranging them carefully and muttering as she worked Maddie's arms into position. Soon, she was pulling the material off Maddie's shoulders, smoothing the silk before kneeling to work on the crinoline. "No hoops this year?"

Maddie, a bit pinker than she had been in several years, shook her head. "No, thank God…no hoops. Remember when I wore 'em after I graduated? I took out a whole dinner service and two potted palms."

Charlotte managed to turn a giggle into a circumspect cough, which Maddie had to give her some credit for. She began stitching a ripped seam and was silent for a while as Maddie stared at herself in the full-length mirror, feeling more and more appalled.

Charlotte was the granddaughter of Maddie's father's youngest uncle, and was a tall, lean girl of seventeen, still awkward and uneasy following a summer growth spurt last year that had made her shoot up to almost five-ten, with arms and legs stretching out into unfamiliar territory. She played girls' basketball at the Morgansville high school, and was the latest in a line of tall, lean, serious girls of that particular branch of the family. The Morgans were always either tall and skinny and gawky, or they were shorter and more compact, like Maddie. The shorter ones, obviously, did not play basketball but still tended to smack into things.

"What do you think?" Charlotte said, finally standing up. "It does look…good…kinda…"

"I look like Belle Watling!" Maddie wailed, hearing the deathknell of her days of wearing this dress. Some other Morgan girl was going to have to take it, but she wasn't ready to surrender yet. Probably because she was, like so many Morgan girls, stubborn and just a little dumb.

The gown did indeed look scandalous, and Maddie wondered again how her mother and grandmother – both pillars of the Morgansville Church of Christ – could have ever put it on with a clear conscience. But they had, for the sake of the hotel's annual Harvest Ball that kicked off Morgansville's famous Fall Festival (complete with costume contests, a parade, a carnival, and a festival-ending Ponies and Pinks Drag Hunt that people from _England _came for every year, for the sheer lunacy of the event). The dress was off the shoulder, low-cut, and scarlet red, with black sleeves and jetting. Maddie refused to wear the hat that had came along with it, as she knew she looked utterly ridiculous in hats. Not that she didn't look pretty ridiculous already, but tradition was tradition. If 'tradition' really did mean 'looking stupid in public'.

"Okay…okay…I can do this."

"What?" Charlotte asked desperately, practically chewing on her knuckles in anticipation of a busted seam or an eyeball explosion.

"Walk."

"I'm not sure about that, Maddie," Charlotte said. "Walk and you'll just…fall over. I always wondered how Morticia Addams got around…"

"I think she wore roller skates. Folks off-camera pulled her along with…with wires…oh, Lord, I can breathe…I can't breathe!"

Charlotte came around to face Maddie, who couldn't have turned to save her own life. "I'm serious, Maddie…I think you've…outgrown this dress."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Maddie yelped, still in denial. Or maybe it was just a lack of oxygen.

"I'm saying it's just…not working any more. You're too…muscled. Toned. You know…Army. Blame the Army, not me!"

Maddie sighed, and felt a seam pop. "Oh, Lord…get it off me! Get it off me now! Bloody…damn…oh, well…let's all just yield to reality, shall we? I'll get Caerlina to wear it!"

Both young women jumped when they heard the wolf whistle from the door. Maddie, already breathless and getting pinker and pinker from lack of oxygen, wasn't able to turn on her own, but she knew that whistle. She closed her eyes and hoped that her lack of air would finally render her unconscious.

"Good Lord, you look like a Gilded Age hooker."

"What…who are you?" Charlotte gasped, moving to stand directly behind Maddie, to try and block her from Murdock's view, but the full-length mirror reflected Maddie's image quite well and his eyebrows were up and his green eyes were bright with amusement.

"I am a captain in the United States Army Rangers, and my name is James Murdock," he told Charlotte, but his eyes were still on Maddie.

"What are you doing up here?" Charlotte tried again.

"Followin' my nose. Somebody told me Maddie'd be up here, but I wasn't expectin' a _show_!" He grinned at Maddie, who covered her face with her hands. "Need some help gettin' outta that, baby? I'm right handy with knots."

"Oh, very funny, Captain. Very, very funny. Charlotte, push him out the door. Or out the window! Either way, begone, Murdock!"

Charlotte was struggling to keep from giggling, but she obeyed her cousin and stepped toward Murdock, who raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, I'm goin', I'm goin'. Why not just let that thing out, anyhow? Or is it vintage…?" He was still trying to get a better look at Maddie as Charlotte shut the door in his face.

"You know that guy?" Charlotte asked, turning to look at Maddie via the mirror.

"Yes, I know him," Maddie said.

Charlotte looked speculative, but knew to keep her mouth shut. She sat down on the Victorian fainting couch and burst into laughter just the same. "He's kinda cute."

"He is not…cute." Maddie said, shaking her head. "He's not _cute_ at all."

"Well, then, what is he?" Charlotte got up and began helping Maddie out of the dress. When the corset was finally loosened and Maddie was able to get oxygen to her brain again, she closed her eyes and recalled the sight of James Murdock without his shirt on. Blame it on the lack of oxygen, she told herself firmly.

"He's…well…he's…uh…Murdock."

"Hm."

"What's that 'hm' mean? He's just…he's…"

"Well, I wouldn't say he's _gorgeous_ or anything," Charlotte said critically. "But you'd better make your move before Caerlina comes up from Austin."

Maddie, finally freed from the dress and down to a camisol and bloomers, flopped down on the fainting couch. Caerlina Morgan would be in Morgansville tomorrow, and no healthy American male would pass up a chance at somebody like _her_. Maddie's head snapped back up and she glared at Charlotte.

"There is nothing going on between me and…never mind. So just drag your mind out of that gutter and…and…go dribble something!"

Charlotte only snickered, but her smile faded at Maddie's stricken expression. "Hey…listen, he's not Ellis, Maddie. Thank God for that…geez, what a wanker _he_ was."

"You watch too many Britcoms. Get out of here!"

Once Charlotte was gone, Maddie changed back into jeans and a ribbed shirt, retwisted her hair and put on some canvas deck shoes before rushing downstairs. On the way down, she told herself very firmly to put her relationship with Captain Murdock on a more professional plane. She was his employer, basically, and as such, certain boundaries would just have to be set and strictly adhered to.

Right. She nodded firmly as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She saw Murdock standing in the foyer, talking to the group of teenaged boys that had been hauled in from town to help decorate the hotel. He saw her and grinned, and she turned pink again. _Boundaries_, she told herself again, and started barking out orders.


	11. Fried Food

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 11

**Note**: Madelia is, to me anyway, pronounced 'Mah-day-lya'.

* * *

"I seriously need a nap."

Maddie glanced at Murdock, who had plopped down onto a bale of hay and was leaning back against the wall, his long legs stretched out, arms dangling. "I forgot that even late September can get damned hot in these parts."

She was more concerned about the upcoming events of the day. The hotel was finally ready for what would be an onslaught of guests and tourists, but the work that had gone into it had worn everyone out and tempers were short amongst the remaining workers inside. That had been why she had persuaded the weary-looking pilot to go outside with her. It was six in the morning, and the 'volunteer' crew had worked tirelessly through the night, getting everything ready, but now many of them had staggered off to find a shower, a bed, and air conditioning – the temperature was already going up.

Murdock had pitched right in, never complaining even as he'd been conscripted into hauling around bales of hay, giant pumpkins and gourds that looked like alien sex toys, after which he been pressed into mopping floors. At around four in the morning, with just four hours until the hotel doors would be thrown open, he had been asked to help out in the kitchen, chopping pile upon pile of apples that would be used for pies. He hadn't complained about that, either. In fact, he had seemed to enjoy the work. It was all something to _do_.

It wasn't unusual for it to be hot in Morgansville at the end of September. It was as if summer was only reluctantly surrendering to autumn, and was putting in one hard, final punch to make sure no one forgot about her. By the second week of October, temperatures would be dropping and the Northers would be blowing in, one on top of the other. Then the vicious, mean-spirited cold of winter would come in after Thanksgiving – little or no snow, of course, but cold so bone-rattling and exhausting that it made one wish for summer again. Maddie had always been amused by Yankees who laughed at Texans who got rattled by cold snaps, but then declared five days of temperatures over eighty degrees a 'heat wave'.

"I really appreciate your helping out last night," she said. "We do it this way every year, and after the festival is over, we swear we'll do it better next time 'round…but we never do."

"Another tradition, I guess." He slouched back on the bale and closed his eyes. She looked at him, and wasn't surprised to see he had fallen asleep.

"James?"

"Hm…?"

"You'll be going to the festival, right?"

"Wouldn't…miss…pumpkins…"

"Good." She smiled, shaking her head, and settled back against the wall, watching the sun come up. She jumped when she heard his cell phone start ringing – playing the theme from _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_. She snatched it up, flipped it open and stared at the caller ID – Lieutenant Peck's face grinned up at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Hello?"

A pause. "Who is this?"

"Maddie."

"Are you…hey, you're…with Murdock?"

"He is asleep, yes," she nodded, glancing at the soundly sleeping pilot.

"Wow…he moves faster than I thought."

"We're on the front porch!" she snapped.

"Really? I have trouble picturing even Murdock doin' somethin' like that in pub-…"

"We were up all night working, you idiot! What do you want?" she snapped, irritated. "And what are you doing up at this hour, too?"

She heard Peck snicker. "Oh, is that what they call it now? 'Working'? Hm. Anyway. We are on the road, actually. Gotta keep movin', but I'm glad I got Murdock that drop phone – though I admit I'm surprised he still has it. Smart guy, but he tends to kind of…forget where he puts 'em. He has a mental block about phones. Hates 'em." Peck's joviality faded, and he sounded serious. "How's he doing?"

"He's fine," she said, lowering her voice. Murdock was still asleep, and she didn't want to wake him. "Out cold."

"Good. I mean…you know…he's been needing some rest, after…you know…everything. Though I suspect he's being kept kinda _busy_…what…hey, leggo!"

Maddie heard two male voices in the background, and recognized Colonel Smith. There were several muffled noises, followed by Peck grouching, and then Colonel Smith's voice came on the line. "Captain Morgan? You're sure Murdock is okay?" He sounded excessively worried, which was both touching and annoying.

"He's fine, Colonel, I promise. These past few weeks have been really good for him, I think. He's working on a house next door to the hotel, and living there, and I can't tell that he's stressed or anything. Seems well-rested and quite happy."

"Working on a house?" Smith sounded confused. "Well…he never ceases to surprise me. What's he doing?"

"Repairs, mainly. The historical experts will do the major restorations, but he's doing a very good job so far with repairing and upgrading. The roof is almost totally repaired and once that's done he'll be tackling the electric wiring and the plumbing…though I admit, getting started just a few months shy of winter isn't the best timing, but I know he'll get quite a lot accomplished before December." She closed her eyes, realizing that circumstances might prevent him from still being in Morgansville at all come December.

Murdock sat up suddenly, yelping "No! I won't do it! Let me go!" He looked around, wild-eyed, until he seemed to realize where he was. He saw Maddie sitting there with his phone to her ear, her eyes wide as she stared at him, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"He's awake now," she said, and covered the phone with her hand. "It's Colonel Smith. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Oh…yes, of course…" He took the phone from Maddie, yawning and stretching. "Hey, Boss. Yeah…doin' fine…no, I'm…well, of course I am. No, I'm not overworked or stressed…Haven't seen Billy at all, in fact…nope. Seriously – I'm okay. Well, if y'all want to, but lay low…I think so…I doubt you could afford it…okay, I'll ask her." He looked at Maddie, his expression serious. "Would you mind harboring three more wanted criminals at Swale House?"

"Oh, dear God."

* * *

Maddie gripped her coffee cup and smiled nervously at her mother, who was gaping at Murdock. "You're…wanted by the military police?"

"Er…well, not _technically_. I mean, I…well…" He rubbed his face, struggling to find some way to explain himself. He glared at Maddie, who had moments before introduced him to Anne Morgan and then informed the poor woman that he wasn't actually a bonafide handyman, and could at any time receive a visit from large men carrying guns. "I wasn't actually convicted of anything. On an official basis, I should actually be…"

"That's not important," Maddie stopped him. "He's innocent, Mama. And so are his friends."

"The…the A-Team?" Anne shook her head. "And they're coming here?" She looked around her beautiful, immaculate kitchen and seemed to picture it burning to the ground, along with her beautiful, immaculate hotel.

"Well…yes." Murdock nodded. "They're…uh…kinda needing a quiet place to stay, where the MP's won't be looking for them, and…and…they don't know that Maddie knows them…I really hope you won't be making any phone calls, 'cause I really don't want to go back to Germany…or any other place like that again…"

"They're coming here, while the festival is going on, and while we have guests here from all over God's creation, and they'll all be living at Swale House." Anne didn't look happy about this situation. Murdock didn't blame her. He wished Face was here now, so he could do all the smooth talking and charming. He knew he lacked charm of any kind, and he was no smooth talker. Swallowing nervously, he leaned toward her.

"I promise you, Mrs Morgan – we're very safe. I mean…we're…we're…right peaceable men. That is, we're in the military…or…we were. They threw us out, and took our stripes, but…we're still soldiers, and you know that the United States military has done more to promote world peace than the friggin' United Nations…or even Ben & Jerry's ice cream donatin' one percent of their income toward it. We won't cause you any trouble, I swear. I'll even put 'em to work at Swale House, so they can earn their keep." Murdock took a sip of his coffee, imagining Face's reaction when he would be informed that he would have to deal with drywall and spackle.

Anne frowned at him, but he saw he had hit a nerve – her husband had been a soldier, after all, and all six of her sons were soldiers, and so was her only daughter. She looked at Maddie, who was still gripping her coffee cup, a bit shaky from lack of sleep and overwork, but sitting up straight just the same, as she had been taught from _birth_.

"Madelia Frances, you've done it again…started out with kittens, now its wanted men. What's next? King Kong?"

"Madelia Frances?" Murdock's eyes lit up with amusement.

"What?" Maddie looked offended. "I was named after my grandmothers, okay? Madeleine Morgan…nee Davenport… and Mama's mother, Georgia _Frances_ Scarborough. They combined the names and got…Madelia. Madegeorgia just sounded stupid."

"I thought we were being very unique when we put the names together. Who'd'a thought there was a town in Minnesota named Madelia?" Anne laughed.

"It's still very unique," Murdock said with a very male little _smirk_. "Sounds better'n _Maddie_, I think. I think that from now on, I'll call her Madelia."

"Hello, sitting here!" Maddie waved at her mother and Murdock, and Anne snickered again.

She stood up, taking Murdock's coffee cup and refilling it. She returned it to him, leaned against the counter, and sighed. "The things I do for my children…and my country."

"So you'll keep quiet about it?" Maddie asked. "They can stay at Swale?"

"I've never known you to travel in bad company, Madelia," Anne shook her head. "If these men are the type of people you claim they are, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt…for now. _Captain_ Murdock, was it?" She regarded Murdock with cool grey eyes that reminded him of past CO's that had initially thought he was off his rocker and then concluded that he was indeed off his rocker but an all-around decent guy anyway and the best pilot to have ever breathed to boot.

"Yes, ma'am," Murdock nodded. He took a sip of the delicious, scalding coffee. "Airborne Rangers."

"Hm. Murdock, right?" She studied him carefully. "What was your grandfather's name?"

He looked startled. "Alexander."

"Hm." Anne put her coffee cup in the sink. "I knew his youngest brother. Half-brother, actually…John Murdock?"

"Yeah…he was about ten years younger than my grandpa…he died several years ago. I didn't know him very well, but he was a funny guy. Had a great sense of humor."

"I knew him…somewhat." Anne nodded. "You look like him. Or…I should say, you carry yourself like him – same posture, same _confidence_. He was a very…interesting man."

Murdock and Maddie looked at each other, then at Anne, who had turned away to wash her coffee cup. She cleared up the counter, dried her hands, and turned back to face them. "Madelia, your cousin Caerlina will be here before lunch. I assume you'll be attempting to poison her before the day's over?"

Maddie frowned. "W-when will she be here?"

"About three o'clock I think. Captain Murdock, you look exhausted. Go back to Swale and get some sleep. Madelia, we need to go into town and get the booth set up, and I've got the displays at the school gym to check…plus your grandmother and I are in charge of the dunking booth this year, and I'm sure the Ledbetters are all over at her house, driving her crazy. Who _will_ we get to be…dunked?"

"Not me. I can't swim." Murdock got up and drained the last of his coffee. He gave the ladies a brief bow and left, letting the screen door bang behind him. Maddie looked out the window and saw him trotting across the field toward Swale House. Anne cleared her throat.

"Well. There's an interesting man, to say the least."

Maddie nodded, chewing on her lower lip. "What do you…um…think?"

"Well, it's not for me to do the thinking…what do you think of him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Maddie followed her mother out into the hall, where several morning-shift workers were doing last-minute spot checks for any sign of dust or disorder.

Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Madelia. Don't play that game. You and I both know why he's here, and what's going on. He's a good-looking, intelligent and very masculine man…and after what happened with Ellis, I can see why you'd be interested…but a _wanted_ man? I mean, yes, I believe the story that he and his friends were set up. Like I said before, you're an excellent judge of character, but still…"

"Oh, so you think this is…that I'm…oh, a _rebound_? It's been almost five years since Ellis, and I can assure you, there have been a couple of guys since then…"

"Um, sweetheart, I'm your mother. You have your own life, and I can't tell you what to do with it – I just give you advice and guidance, but if you tell me that you and those men were…" She shuddered. "I'm sorry, but I am a mother. The very thought of that will just _kill_ me."

Maddie rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Of course we weren't. I don't _do_ that. And Ellis said I was…" The sting of what her ex-fiance had said to her came right back to her. It still amazed her, frankly, that she had shown up for the wedding at all, considering all the second thoughts she had had. For Ellis to be the one to not show up had been doubly humiliating. Ever since then, she had been more apt to follow her instincts rather than listen to a man's apologies and excuses. _Reasons are not excuses_ – that was her motto since Ellis Grey.

What her instincts were saying about James Murdock, however, left her in a constant state of euphoria blended with panic, with just a dash of hormonal lunacy and since having seen him bare-chested, downright _dizzy_ to the point of giggling every few minutes, like some idiot fifteen-year old. Her instincts had reacted much the same way the first time she'd met him, back at Camp Hooyah in Iraq, and when he'd prevented her from being assaulted two years later. Ellis certainly hadn't made her feel that way, and she had come within a few inches of marrying the jackass.

"What did Ellis say?" Anne asked. For the thousandth time. She had been trying to get Maddie to talk about Ellis for almost five years now, to no avail. Part of her wanted to know, but part of her was extremely glad she didn't. He had clearly done something to cut away at her daughter's self-confidence, and she was glad none of her brothers had found out about it, or Ellis would not currently be a successful attorney in Dallas, but would have instead undergone a certain 'initiation' involving a poisonous snake, a barrel and the Simpson River Dam.

"Never mind. But I'm not on any kind of rebound. And I'm not…Murdock and I are not…we're not…"

"You might want to get one of those truck beepers, for when you reverse yourself like that," Anne muttered shaking her head. "Either way, honey, it's pretty clear to me."

"What is?" Maddie asked, exasperated. "What?"

Anne started laughing. She was proud of her daughter – proud of all she had accomplished before even turning thirty. Proud of what she had overcome, and what she pushed herself to be. Her ambition and hard work had paid off, all the way to the Bolshoi. Injury had ended that dream, though, and so Madelia had pushed herself into a different direction entirely, and had also done extremely well. The only thing the poor girl still had yet to accomplish was to actually find a man who was halfway worthy of her. "Let me put it this way, sweetie – Captain Murdock looks at you the way a fat man looks at fried food."

Maddie flushed. "No he doesn't! And…and besides…besides, I…I'm busy here at the hotel all the time, and he's busy at Swale House…and he's kind of…uh…a mess himself, so…uh…shouldn't we be leaving now?"

* * *

Murdock spent the rest of the morning asleep on his cot on the back porch, screened off from mosquitoes and enjoying the breeze from the lake. By noon, he was awake and famished, so he got up, pulled on some jeans and a denim shirt and ate a lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then clattered outside to look around for something interesting to do. The bedroom upstairs had a fireplace, and he had spent part of one afternoon reading a book on how to clean out a chimney flue and remove dead animals if required (thank God it hadn't required that, though), and so now, he had a cleared out chimney and a pile of wood in the back yard that could be used as cord. So he grabbed an axe and went out to contemplate the stack of wood and think about _Fargo_. "He was a funny-lookin' little guy," he told the wood chipper next to the tool shed, but it issued no response.

He set up a block, lined up a piece of wood, and took a swing at it. The wood split nicely enough, and he stepped back, pleased. Soon, he was chopping away, whistling happily. After he had most of the wood cut, the heat was starting to get to him, so he took the shirt off, tossing it over a broken chair, and went back to work, singing an old spiritual he had learned from the _O Brother Where Art Thou?_ soundtrack.

"Hi!"

James Murdock, in spite of what a lot of people thought, was not by nature a nervous man. He had actually once been described by a girlfriend in high school as having 'nerves of wood'. He had been hard for her to deal with, in fact, because he didn't get overly excited about anything. At least, not until he took that girl to see a vampire movie at the Alamo theatre in Austin. Up on the screen, the much-put-upon heroine had been lying on her bed, having stupidly left the French doors open (with vampires in the area!), the mists rolling in off the moors, the curtains blowing in the breeze…and the bat flew in and then Dracula was bending over the girl's body. At that very moment, his girlfriend had kissed Murdock on the neck. He had let out a whoop of pure terror, spread popcorn over six rows of the theatre, spilled his Coke all over an unpleasant little man from Goldthwaite and was told by the theatre manager to never come back again.

Murdock had lost his virginity that same night. So all in all, it hadn't been a _bad_ experience (his girlfriend had even expressed the same view), except for him having developed a lasting fear of vampires. But still…he didn't like being surprised. So when the woman standing there chirped at him, he let go of the axe and watched in horror as it flew through the trees and landed in the lake, about ten yards out from the dock. He turned to glare at her, momentarily wishing the axe had flown in a different direction, if only to teach her a lesson. Or kill her.

She was the definition of 'drop dead gorgeous', anyway. Tall, svelte, _slinky_ and wearing a black pantsuit, her blonde hair twisted up into a knot. She was wearing Gucci sunglasses, which she slowly removed to look at him. She smiled, flawless blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Her skin was perfect, her lips full and pouty, and thus she immediately annoyed him.

"I'm sorry – didn't mean to scare you. I'm Caerlina Morgan."

He looked down and saw that he was half-naked. _Disadvantage me_, he thought, and snatched up his shirt. He pulled it on and buttoned it up. One of her sleek eyebrows lifted. She pushed the shades up on top of her head, studying him more carefully, until he started feeling itchy.

"James Murdock."

"I was looking for Maddie – is she around here?"

"Nope. Gone to town with Anne." He looked out at the lake, doubting that a search and rescue mission could be called for a drowned axe.

"Oh. What a pity." She held out her hand to him, and he shook it. She hadn't done a day's work in her life, he realized, feeling her soft palm. "She's my cousin. Her father and mine were brothers."

"Right. Well…got work to do…so…" He nodded toward the house, trying to signal that he wanted to her scram.

"Of course. Again, I apologize for startling you." She looked him up and down, then dragged her eyes back to his. "Are you working here at Swale House?"

"Mm." He wondered briefly about genetics, and shrugged. "I reckon you're here for the festival?"

"Oh, yes. I come every year – I was in Paris, but I managed to drag myself away. I never miss the Morgan County Fair and Fall Festival!" She sounded like she was exclaiming over having just seen the hottest film at Cannes, and sounded just as sincere.

"Paris, Texas or Paris, Kentucky?" he asked her, putting no inflection in his voice whatsoever, to see how she'd react.

She laughed, not disappointing him at a bit. "Paris, France."

"Oh. Yeah. Great city. Or would be, if it weren't for the French. Listen, I got work to do. See ya 'round. _Vous êtes véritable verni à être vivant_."

Caerlina didn't seem terribly offended by what he said, though she did seem a bit surprised to hear him speak French. She just shrugged and walked back toward the hotel, having been wise enough to wear flat shoes. Murdock went around to the tool shed to look for another axe. He had seen Caerlina Morgan's face on magazine covers, and not just fashion magazines, either. She was on the cover _Us Weekly_ just a few weeks ago, after having broken up the marriage of some famous actor. To most people, she was just Caerlina (in the Madonna, Cher, Roseanne tradition), and she was regularly seen strutting the catwalks of Paris, Milan and New York, looking pissed. It always baffled Murdock, why fashion models looked so ticked off all the time. They were making lots of money to wear clothes that were worth more than the national gross income of several small countries (though frankly most of the outfits were hideous or hilarious), and yet they always looked like somebody just told them their dear old uncle Bob had just died and left the family fortune to the cat. He glanced back at Caerlina's retreating figure and shook his head. She was T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

* * *

Maddie spent the latter part of the morning in town, helping her mother set up the Morgan Hotel booth on Main Street, where the Morgan County Fair and Fall Festival was being held. The event took over the entire town, of course, with the rides and livestock judging taking place on the high school campus grounds, but local businesses pulled out all the stops to get attention from the tourists as they meandered through town. Automobile traffic was strictly banned in town during the festival, giving visitors every chance to see what the town had to offer while walking through on their way to the carnival and other festivities.

She was pleased to see that many of the tourists were stopping at the booth now, looking over the hotel brochures and definitely looking interested. Next door to their booth was the Cedar Creek Winery booth, which included wine samples and little pieces of cheese and those weird little crackers that tasted like chalk. Maddie slipped over to greet her friend – and distant cousin - Marni, whose father ran the vineyard.

"I hear your cousin Caerlina is gonna be in town. Gonna poison her again?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. The notorious 'poisoning' hadn't been deliberate – or at least not consciously so. Maddie had not actually _meant _to put the peanut butter chips in the cake mix. Still, deep down, she had kind of enjoyed watching her svelte, perfectly coiffed, elegant and _famous_ cousin swell up to the point of resembling the Pillsbury Doughboy. It had only taken a quick trip to the Morgansville Clinic for a shot to clear up matters, but Caerlina had certainly made a production of the whole thing and had left the festival early, in a huff (and still slightly…plump).

"Marni, I'm warning you, I will bonk you in the head with a wine bottle…" She tossed back a sample of Cedar Creek's international prize-winning red wine and ate a piece of cheese. "I did not poison her."

"I've never seen anybody have an allergic reaction so _fast_. I mean, I'm a little allergic to strawberries, but it takes six or seven of them to make me turn a little pinkish. But Caerlina…wow…it was like somebody was inflating her with a bicycle pump."

Maddie almost coughed up the cheese in her attempt to keep from laughing. She glanced over and saw her mother signaling for her, but waved her off and was not surprised to see Anne shrug and get corralled into conversation with the Baptist preacher's wife. "Hey, how's the parade float coming along?"

"Granny's on it, and the rest of the Butler clan, which means the fistfight will be starting soon, I'm sure. Her hearing is getting worse, by the way – when I told her this year's float needed repairs, she thought I said the Senator's goat fell down the stairs." Marni shook her head. "But at least Granny's good at decoratin' that damned thing. God, I hate that float. Grapes everywhere…cheese melting in the sun…vines twisting in my hair, like some kinda horror movie, and this year…this year, I have to dress up like a Roman goddess! With most of the crew _drunk_ on dewberry wine, so I'm sure that'll end well. Remember when Manuel got into the wine, right before he got behind the _wheel_? He came within maybe an _inch_ of driving the float into the foyer of the First Baptist Church."

"Don't mention dewberry wine to me!" Maddie gasped. "One glass of your granny's stuff can put anybody under the table – I was out cold on one glass, and that's why I refuse to ever touch alcohol again!" She glanced down at the empty sample cup in her hand and threw it in the trashcan. "Remember those Marines? It took us three days to find them. And Manuel's escapade did get us full coverage on the ten o'clock news that night. And _American's Funniest Home Videos_. We missed the trifecta when the police didn't have to pursue. We could have been on _World's Wildest Police Chases_, too."

"And those Marines were all naked…mm…" Marni giggled. "Oh, look…there's the mayor."

"Let's hope we never have to see him naked. Hi, Mr Casebrooke." Maddie smiled politely. He was an outsider – a native of Dallas and Morgansville's former city manager. He was easily the dullest man she had ever met, but he was as honest as the day was long, and thus he was well-liked enough to have been elected to the job. He had introduced the notion of a town meeting to be held every month at the VFW hall, and actually _listened_ to people. She couldn't say she liked Harry Casebrooke, but she didn't dislike him. He was a registered Independent, so she didn't even really know where he stood on the major issues. Since he worked hard to keep property taxes low, let parents have a say in how the schools were run, and his speeches never lasted more than ten minutes, he was pretty likely to get re-elected.

"Miss Morgan, Miss Butler. Everything going well?" He was short, balding, and unremarkable in every way. The perfect mayor, actually. No hint of scandal, though he was single (divorced) and believed to be quite straight. Just so…_bland_ that no one could think of him doing anything out of the sphere of the completely dull.

"Yes, very well, Mr Casebrooke. Hey…would you be interested in sitting in the dunking booth?" Maddie asked.

* * *

Murdock walked to town, having no interest in driving the enormous King Ranch Ford pickup Maddie had forced on him shortly after he'd moved into Swale House. He liked walking – liked breathing in the scents of early fall and watching grasshoppers jump away from his feet. Dogs barked at him from yards, a jackrabbit froze when he realized he'd been seen and stood there on all four legs, only its nose twitching in fright before it finally couldn't take it any more and took off for the cedars. Murdock grinned when he saw a roadrunner take off, a lizard dangling helplessly from its beak. "_Paz hasta usted, paisano_," he called to the bird, but it was long gone.

He had a habit of taking a walk at dusk, to see what could be seen out in the cedar breaks, past the hotel and along the short, winding road to town. Deer didn't get terrified by just one man alone, after all, and would often just stand there, ears flicking around and taking in his scent – tonight, a cologne Face had given him for Christmas one year – before walking quietly back into the shadows. Passing a field, he saw an armadillo digging a hole, dirt flying behind it. He heard coyotes singing in the distance. Facing town, he could just the lights of Morgansville – a town Maddie said 'never takes a nap' – and the first night of the festival just getting under way. Getting closer to town, he could hear a band playing _oom-pa-pa_ music common to fairs. From his right, he caught the scent of the lake – duckweed and rotting wood and fish, and he could hear water lapping against the man-made sand beach and the waterbreak. Further up was Simpson Dam, and he could hear the water splashing over it.

In the past ten years, Murdock hadn't had as much peace in his life. It had been war and violence and injuries and shrapnel and shouting. Choppers and the scream of bombs and the nerve-wracking _thunk_ of rockets. Guns and rescuing stranded soldiers. Roadside bombs, fire fights, thrown rocks, raids, scorching sand, no water for miles around, crazy men with big guns and _jihad_ in their hearts, coming for his throat. Capture, imprisonment, torture, escape, flight…moving, barely taking a breath sometimes, living by his instincts and lightning-fast reflexes. Nightmares and screaming and being tied down and straight-jacketed, confined in small rooms and scolded like a naughty child instead of a grown man with a mind of his own. Drugged and berated and shocked and then having jerks in white coats wonder why _he_ was crazy.

All of that had changed, though. There was no one yelling at him here. He was not ignored, or patched up and thrown back into a war zone. He wasn't trodden underfoot, or scolded. For some reason, he was being treated as though he could think and be and do for himself, with no one requiring that he make any decisions on their schedule. The only things he missed were Hannibal and Face and B.A. – and flying - and soon, his friends would be here, too. Maybe they would enjoy the peace as much as he did. He hoped they would. Prayed they would.

He hadn't had any trouble sleeping lately, either, even in the screened-in room on the back porch. He still liked to leave the TV on, muting the sound when he was about to fall asleep, because the darkness still spooked him a little. Still, he hadn't a full-blown nightmare in weeks, and even the little nightmares didn't leave him shaking. Even better, he had his freedom. He could go for a walk at three in the morning if he liked – though he doubted Maddie would appreciate that much – or eat a pint of Blue Bell or climb up on the roof for some nude sunbathing, or whatever _he_ liked. Usually, though, he worked. He liked the work, and felt good every time he got something else finished. He liked that the physical labor improved his health and strengthened his muscles and let him think. He liked the sense of accomplishment it gave him.

Like the roof, for instance. He turned back and could see the huge white pile of Swale House at the bottom of the hill, the lake sparkling in the moonlight beside it, and the glittering line of the creek dividing the pasture between it and the Morgan. He grinned, laughing to himself. The roof wouldn't leak any more. In a few days, he'd be putting the team to work on replacing rotted floorboards and fixing stained ceilings. Then Maddie would be telling him whatever else would need to be done, and he'd tackle that with as much enthusiasm and eagerness. He hoped it would be the kitchen, because that room was a _disaster_ and he was already thinking of what all he could do in there.

He slowed, thinking about her, and doing his best to not think about her in any way except as a friend who seemed to believe in him. Why she had decided he was the man to do this kind of job was still baffling, though even he had to admit that he wasn't doing too badly. Besides which, living at Swale House meant he was just across the pasture from her and – this made him feel like a total heel, but he wasn't _dead_ for God's sake – he had a good view of her bedroom window at Rose Cottage. Not that he had _seen_ anything, but if she didn't want him to try to see _anything_, why did she turn on her light at night? He used that logic whenever he found himself sitting there on the porch, staring at her window, knowing she was in there, getting ready for bed. Hell, it wasn't as though he had bought binoculars, or a telescope. Yet.

When the weather got chilly, he slept in the house, upstairs in the room he had set up. He hadn't heard the eating ghosts yet, but he had to admit that in the mornings, he saw silvery lines on the rocks in the back yard. Maddie would say had been inside, eating while he slept. But he hadn't noticed any food missing. He still had his jar of mustang jelly and his Jiffy peanut butter, and a loaf of bread. The china, knives and forks were as yet unused – he only used paper plates and plastic cutlery.

He knew the nighttime noises from outside were caused by a possum that lived under the back porch, making a bit of a racket every night as it patrolled, but those sounds were not as familiar any more, but he was just getting used to them. After all, it had been years since his childhood at Oatmeal, where the cedar breaks were far thicker and where a mountain lion could even be heard screaming out there from time to time. It was an adjustment – or a readjustment, really, to be hearing sounds he hadn't heard in almost twenty years, and smelling scents that had been all but forgotten. The wind in the grass and in the cedars was like music, though, and better than any he had ever heard before. All he needed was his grandfather reading Louis L'Amour novels to him and he'd be eight years old again, his imagination running wild with the cowboys and Indians his grandfather read to him about. He stopped and looked up at the sky, a swirling soup of wispy clouds obscuring so many of the stars.

He was about forty-five miles north of home, as the crow flew, but when he looked up at the sky and started walking more quickly toward Morgansville and the noise and stink of a county fair and festival, he knew that God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.

For better or for worse, and however long it might last, he was home. He listened to the night sounds again, wondering what might happen next, and was extremely eager to find out.


	12. Carnival

Season of the Witch

Part 12

* * *

"My God," Murdock said, taking a sip of his Coke. "Look at that woman…bless her heart, she must weigh fifteen-hundred pounds. I'm going to guess that she doesn't just have a thyroid condition, judging from the burrito she has hangin' out of her mouth like a _cigar_..."

Maddie was almost helpless with laughter by now. She was sitting beside him on a bench at the edge of the carnival Fairway, watching people walk by, and he had been providing her with a running commentary on them, from appearance to clothes to general attitude. He had declared people-watching to be a favorite pastime, and so they had given up walking around – his hip had started hurting anyway – and were resting for a while.

"Somebody sold me a rock with a face painted on it, a little while ago," he told her as the woman trudged by. "I refrained from buying the lawn darts, though. I know myself far too well. Like I'd be aimin' at the targets…I'd be takin' out annoying dogs and pesky kids instead." He dug in his pocket and extracted a painted rock. "I'm namin' him Herman."

"A very apt name," Maddie nodded, grabbing his drink and taking a sip.

"Hey, gimme that!"

She dodged his attempt at grabbing the drink back and saw a clutch of Ledbetters totter by. What were they doing up at this hour, she wondered. Six of them, all siblings, grandparents to countless people in and around Morgansville, but she doubted they had the wherewithal to hold up a gas station when at their most alert. But you see one Ledbetter, it meant that there was probably several others nearby, giving people headaches. She glanced at Murdock, wondering how he'd react to meeting them all.

One of the Ledbetters noticed her and came over, and Maddie braced herself. "Hello, Miss Madelia…and Ellis, you look a lot different. Last I saw you, you were an uppity lawyer from Dallas and wouldn't be caught dead at this carnival. Musta had plastic surgery…you look a lot better, actually…"

"I'm not Ellis," Murdock said, looking confused.

"Oh." Eudie Ledbetter frowned. "Then what are you doing with his wife?"

"Ellis and I never got married, Eudie," Maddie explained. "The wedding was…cancelled. Eudie Ledbetter Morgan, this is James Murdock." She ignored the pilot's surprised expression and put on a polite smile for the nutty old woman.

"Oh!" Eudie gave him a PolyDent bright smile. "How is your grandmother, dear?"

"Still dead." Murdock nodded. "But we keep in touch."

"Good. It's so nice to keep up with your kinfolks, I always say." Eudie patted his shoulder and tottered away, catching up with her siblings and heading toward the carousel. He looked at Maddie, who shook her head.

"Her shoes don't match each other," he pointed out.

Maddie nodded gravely. "Eugenie, Eudoxia – Eudie, that is - Eulalie, Marmaduke, Heathcliff and Daingerfield Ledbetter. The girls all married Morgan cousins. The guys all married outsiders, strangely enough, and they've got more descendants than they can keep track of. They're Morgansville's resident eccentrics…to put it mildly. You'll see 'em all over the place, being weird. Not creepy or mean, mind you. Just…weird. Non-matching shoes might be a new fashion statement as much as it might be that she just didn't notice."

"I do weird. I live weird." He snatched his drink away at last and sat down on the bench again. "This town seems to have a higher rate, per capita, of weird than would generally be expected of a small town in the Texas Hill Country."

"It think it's the water." She sipped at his Coke, and he frowned at her. They had walked all over the carnival grounds together, playing countless games, riding the kiddie rides – including a spin in the bumper cars, Murdock pinning her against a corner and refusing to let her out until she admitted that Blue Bell's Millennium Sundae was the best of all their flavors – and looking at the animals in the pens at the livestock show. James had won her an enormous stuffed elephant at the Wack-A-Mole, but she didn't know how she'd ever get it home, and Maddie's marksmanship had won him a pink stuffed unicorn that looked like it had leprosy, but all in all they were having a good time. Now, it was almost midnight and almost time for the opening-night fireworks. Thus their sitting on the bench, resting their tired feet and enjoying all the sights and sounds of the carnival.

"Did you sleep well this morning?" she asked him.

"Yep. Got up and chopped some wood, and met your cousin…Carlina or something?"

"Caerlina. It's a Welsh name…'Kare-leena' – it came over on the boat to Virginia from Wales, I'm afraid, in sixteen-forty. Every generation of the family has to give a girl that name." She glanced at him, handed him his Coke and sat back. "I was stuck with Madelia, which no one pronounces or spells correctly and is a town in Minnesota. She got the romantic, purely Welsh family name." She took another sip of Coke and glanced at him, wary but trying to sound casual. "What did you think of her?"

"I've read about her in _Us_…and Madelia is a pretty name, in my opinion. You know, I never liked _Us_ magazine, or any of the people ever featured in it, including your cousin." He drank down the rest of his Coke. "C'mon, let's get on the Ferris wheel."

"Oh…can we not and say we did?" she protested, only just absorbing his lack of interest in Caerlina and wanting to do a Snoopy Happy Dance right there in front of everybody. But he was grabbing her hand and dragging her back to her feet.

"What'samatter with you, baby? Scared of heights?"

"Scared of plummeting to my death, more like. Or rolling down the hill in the Flaming Wheel of Death, or being stuck up there, needing to pee."

"I'll get an extra cup for ya then, if need be. C'mon."

Maddie had no choice but stagger along behind him. They got in line and he dug around for his loop of tickets. "Ah! We've got enough left for _two_ spins!"

"Oh…please…no…"

"It'll be fun! I promise!" He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. By the time they got to the bored-looking teenager operating the Ferris wheel, she was almost as excited as him in spite of her trepidation. But then she recognized the kid – another of her seeming millions of cousins – and flushed with embarrassment when he looked between her and Murdock, his expression going from utter boredom to amusement.

"Hi, Kevin," she said weakly. "How's your mama and them?"

"Good enough." If it hadn't been for his ridiculously long bangs, she would have seen his grin. "Hey, want me to stop the wheel when y'all are at the top – give ya a minute or two…alone?" There weren't very many more riders – just two sets of elderly couples and a small giggle of teenaged girls.

She glanced nervously at Murdock, who shrugged. "Sure, kid. Leave us up there as long as you like. C'mon, Madelia!" He handed the tickets over to Kevin and they climbed into a bucket seat. Maddie gripped the sides nervously and let Murdock pull the bars in. He made sure they were securely locked and grinned at her. "Hey, nothin' to worry about."

She was worried. But not about riding on a Ferris wheel. She was more worried about being on the Ferris wheel with Murdock sitting next to her, with the dark sky all around them. She kept thinking about what her mother had said that morning, about how he looked at her the way a fat man looked at fried food. Did he really look at her that way? She hadn't looked to see for herself, after all. She didn't know how to handle that kind of thing, anyway. And she had lied through her teeth about there having been other guys since Ellis, too. She still felt the sting of that humiliation, though she had to admit, it wasn't very strong any more. In fact, right now, it was utterly non-existent.

The Ferris wheel started moving, and they began moving up, very slowly. The earth receded, along with the stink of popcorn and goats and cooking oil, replaced with the scent of clean, cool, sweet air, with the swirling clouds having wisely departed southwards. The stars were bright and sparkling, the moon hanging huge and friendly above them. Soon, they were suspended at the highest degree of the wheel, the bucket seat swaying gently. They could see all of the Morgan County Fair – this was opening night, with just the preliminary judging of the livestock, and the fireworks would be starting any minute now. Tomorrow would be the wine-tasting and judging (there were four big, prosperous wineries around Morgansville) and the chili cookoff and the arts and crafts exhibitions and competitions, followed by the parade at noon. That night Maddie knew she would have to pour herself into a suitable dress for the ball at the hotel, which would really kick off all the major events that would soon take over the entire town.

On the last night of the festival, there would be a candlelight tour of the old historic houses in Morgansville, including the short but nerve-wracking Haunted Houses of the Hill Country Tour that would include her grandmother's old, gracious strawberry-shortcake pink house, which was occupied by the old woman and three ghosts.

"Hey, you're awfully quiet."

"Oh! I'm sorry…I was just thinking…you probably won't see much of me for the next few days. I'll be awfully busy. When are you expecting your friends?"

"They're probably nearly here. They drove all day to get here, if Face had any say in the matter." He watched the crowds milling around in the Fairway and then looked to the left, to the tents housing the livestock – cows and pigs and sheep and goats and horses, with another tent housing various kinds of fowl, and the bigger tent containing farm machinery. Another tent even contained produce of every imaginable kind – there had even been kumquats in there. Kumquats!

He and Maddie had explored every one of the tents, and had meandered through the school gymnasium to look at displays of all kinds of arts and crafts, from woodburnings to handmade quilts to a scale model of the _Titanic_, made by a ten-year old boy and likely to win a prize. There would even be a pet show tomorrow, 'Displaying Local Pets and Judged by Our Very Own Dr Charlie Morgan'.

There would be a car show tomorrow, too, and he hoped B.A. would be able to see it. Even more, he had seen that on the festival schedule there was a beauty contest and bachelorette auction (the winner got a picnic with the bachelorette, who would prepare the meal) in two more days. Face would _really_ love that. He wasn't sure what Hannibal would do with himself, however, and frowned.

"Oh." Maddie nodded, looking pensive.

"Are you gonna be in the beauty contest?" he asked her.

"Me? Oh, yeah…" She snickered. "As if."

"What, you've won so many times they won't let you compete any more?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Please. I've never entered it."

He hrmphed, disgusted. "You're joking, right? You ought to enter. You…you're a pretty girl." He shrugged slightly and the bucket began to sway again. Maddie gripped the bars in front of her, and he saw her knuckles turning white. "Sorry."

"I'm really very…ordinary. Caerlina was always the great family beauty, believe me."

She glanced at him, and caught his appalled expression. "In what way?" he asked.

"Well…you saw her. She's a model. She came here when she was fourteen, after her mom died. Her dad was in Tokyo and so she came to live with us, at the Morgan. I was already grown, of course, but I was so excited about having a baby sister of sorts, but she wasn't like that at all." Maddie shrugged. "She was spoiled rotten and had come to the conclusion that the sun didn't rise until she got up."

"So you two never got along too well?" he asked. The seat swayed again, but the Ferris wheel was not moving yet. They were still suspended in mid-air, and they watched a train roll by, across the edge of town. They heard the lonesome sound of its whistle, and he heard her sigh.

"No. We never did." Maddie shook her head.

"Hm. I never had much of a family. I mean…my mother died when I was five, and my granny certainly never bounced me on her knee. My grandfather taught me how to live off the land – he claimed his grandfather was part Comanche, and so he knew all these blood-curdling stories…plus he read Poe a lot. I could recite 'The Raven' to you – hand over fist, pound it out…" He laughed. "But I was an only child. I didn't have no siblings until…well…until Hannibal pulled me out of that hospital in Mexico."

"So they're like your brothers? The A-Team?"

"Yeah." He shrugged again, and the motion of the bucket seat made him grip the bar in front of him, too. His hand was next to Maddie's. "Hannibal's about as close to a father as I've ever had. I mean…well, you know. I guess I was kind of a project to him, in some ways, but even he figured out he wasn't gonna fix me. Nobody's gonna _fix_ me."

"Who says you need to be fixed?" she asked him softly.

He looked at her, surprised, and was grateful for the darkness, because he felt his cheeks warm. If he had any of Face's wooing ability, or Hannibal's ability to think fast, he would have said something conducive to romance. He would have made some kind of gesture to indicate that he was interested. Very interested. But instead, he just dragged his gaze away from her eyes and her mouth and looked back across the Fairway, studying the carousel as it spun, its fluorescent lights shining gaudily. He could faintly heard 'Yellow Submarine' playing.

Murdock started to speak, but was jerked back to reality but the Ferris wheel moving again. They were slowly being moved backwards, back to the bottom, before Kevin – who apparently was related to not just the Morgans but also the Marquis de Sade – switched its motion, sending the wheel turning the opposite direction. The elderly couples protested mildly, the girls screamed and giggled and Maddie gripped the bar with both hands, closing her eyes tight. Murdock gripped it, too, and his hand made contact with hers.

Maddie moved just as they reached the top again. She cast off her fear of heights and touched his cheek, moving him toward her. She kissed him, feeling his startled but pleased gasp, and slowly slipped one arm around his neck, angling herself into his embrace. Just for a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then his hand slipped under her jacket and to the small of her back, pulling her closer, kissing her hungrily, gratefully. His other hand lightly caressed her hair. The Ferris wheel stopped them just below the very top, and Maddie was sure that anybody who happened to look up from the still brightly-lit Fairway would see her kissing James Murdock, but frankly, she didn't care.

* * *

It was almost two in the morning, and they were walking back to the Morgan in the moonlight, neither of them speaking. In fact, they hadn't spoken since they'd gotten off the Ferris wheel and started walking back toward the Morgan.

A small night animal – a fox, perhaps – stopped in the middle of the road ahead of them, its eyes shining at them like tiny lamps in the moonlight before it dashed into the cedars. They were far enough away from the lights of town and the carnival that only the stars and the moon provided light for them now, and they could finally hear the water lapping against the lake beach, and the sound of the wind in the cedars.

Their makeout session in the Ferris wheel had ended when they got back to the bottom again. She had been extremely reluctant to let him go, and had only done so because the elderly couple directly behind them started clearing their throats impatiently. Otherwise, Maddie was sure she'd still be kissing him, in front of God and everybody, including many close relatives.

She noted his silence, and wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe he didn't like a woman who made the first move? Maybe he wasn't interested and was trying to think of some way to let her down easy? Or maybe he was too shy to make any reference to what had happened, perhaps thinking she had experienced a lapse in judgment? If that was the case, did he really have such a low opinion of himself? Because frankly, he was a _damned_ good kisser. She was eager to kiss him again…or maybe she should let him make the first move, next time around.

Maddie was about to try to think of something to say when he suddenly stopped, which caused her to stagger a bit and collide with him, dropping her stuffed elephant.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked her. He snatched up the elephant and stood it up beside him, but it tipped drunkenly to the side. His pink unicorn was tucked under his arm, glitter from its horn getting all over his sleeve.

"I…I wanted to…"

"Oh." He looked around, bewildered, as if suddenly not even sure where he was.

"Hasn't anybody ever kissed you before?" she asked, hoping to sound like she was only teasing him a little.

"No." He looked away, toward the lake, and she stared at him, stunned.

"You've never been…"

"Well, yeah, I have, but I…I mean, nobody ever…kissed _me_ first."

"Oh. So I guess you didn't…like that…"

"Of course I did!" he said, exasperated, and ran his hand through his hair. "What, you think I'm some kinda…twit? Why wouldn't I like that? Why wouldn't I want you to…I mean…but I'm…I don't under-…"

Just then, a car turned onto the road, and they both jumped out of its way. Murdock groaned when he recognized it – a big, ugly black van with red detailing and California plates. The van screeched to a halt and backed up, and the passenger side window rolled down. Face leaned out on his forearm and grinned at them.

"Evenin', y'all. Off to bed early?"


	13. Shall We Dance?

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 13

This one has been written and re-written about five times. Finally got it right - I think. Or hope. Anyway, it's a filler chapter and the real fun begins soon. Maddie's got a couple of major surprises for Murdock. We'll see how that goes...I'm still debating with myself about one of them!

I was going to explain frog gigging, but decided against it. Look it up for yourself. :)

* * *

Maddie liked to use 'Shall We Dance?' from _The King and I_ (her favorite musical) for waltzing lessons. Today, however, she used a version of the tune from the soundtrack of the eponymous movie, and the fifteen pairs of teenagers she had been schooling all summer were actually kind of getting into it, swirling around the ballroom, holding each other at proper arms' length and only rarely stepping on one another's toes. She watched for any inappropriate touching – no hands on heinies, please, she had told the boys firmly – and seeing that everyone was on their best behavior, she was able to relax a little and think about last night.

Okay, she had kissed him. He had seemed startled by it at first, yes, but then he had responded, clearly pleased, and he _had_ put his hands in some 'inappropriate' places. Then again, most men will respond when a woman kisses them. On their way back home, however, he had asked her why she had kissed him and had seemed bewildered by the very notion of being kissed at all. That seemed strange to her, and it was still buzzing around in her sleep-deprived mind.

He was an attractive – very attractive – man with a truckload of troubles and a checkered past to say the least, but for once Maddie hadn't had any misgivings about the situation. Even while dating Ellis and becoming engaged and almost marrying him, she had had tons of qualms and second thoughts and misgivings. Not so with James. Frankly, if she didn't have plenty of inhibitions and those pesky _morals_ her mother and grandmother had taught her, she would have dragged Captain James Murdock into Rose Cottage and done more than just _kissed _him.

Of course, she did have a major piece of information for James Murdock – well, actually two big pieces of intel about herself – that could put a pretty big damper on whatever might happen between them, unless he was as honest and decent a person as she believed him to be. She couldn't imagine him completely freaking out about the first bit of information, but the second could send him running…

She glimpsed an errant hand on a butt and cuffed the teenaged boy in question – her own distant cousin Eddie Cowan – on the back of the head. "Inappropriate," she said firmly, moving smoothly with the couple. The girl being groped, a pretty little blonde named Ella, was blushing down to her feet. "Edward Morgan Cowan, you will behave with propriety during these lessons or you will have to _continue_ with violin lessons until you die or turn eighty, whichever comes first."

Eddie swallowed and nodded. His violin lessons were conducted by her grandmother, a formidable – and slightly terrifying - woman in her own right, even if sometimes it seemed like that woman had lost a lot of the stuffing in her comforter.

"All right, all right," she said, clapping her hands as the music faded away. She shut off the CD player and turned to her troops. "The ball is tonight, as you all know, and it is a _public_ ball and everyone will be dressed in period costume, except for the public watching the event, of course. You will all be on your best behavior – so no canoodling, no groping…" She glared at Eddie, who flushed. "No rude behavior, and John Morgan Campbell, you will be wearing the Confederate uniform tonight. Any questions?"

"Why do we have to do this?" John asked, dreading having to explain the beechnut uniform, with its gold epaulettes and braid, to his friends. The only cool thing about it was that he'd be able to wear the Morgan family's cavalry sword with the uniform. Only direct descendants of the original Morgan family that had settled in the area were allowed to wear the sword each year. Maddie's brothers had worn it; her father and uncles had worn it. John was the son of Maddie's aunt. Sometimes, she had nightmares about all the Morgan cousins she had to keep straight. Almost everybody in town had 'Morgan' as part of their name – it was more or less a law.

"Why? Because…because…" She cast about and remembered her grandmother's own loopy explanation. "Because unlike Yankee mamas telling their kids that they _can_, Southern mamas say that their kids _will_. You're doing this for the tourists, and for your grandparents, who also did this when they were recalcitrant teenagers. I even did it when I was your age. It's tradition. That should sum it all up quite nicely."

Hannah Morgan, Maddie's first cousin, started giggling. "Yeah, but you wore the red ballgown when you were seventeen. Who's wearing it this year?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "If it were up to me, it would be Eddie."

The kids all laughed – except for Eddie, who got punched in the shoulder by his friends and cousins - and began leaving the ballroom. This was their last lesson before the ball tonight, and she had put them through their paces quite enough without making them all loathe her. Maddie put away the boom box, slapped the _Shall We Dance?_ CD into its jewel box and turned to leave…only to scream in surprise when she ran smack into the surprisingly hard chest of James Murdock.

"Hi."

He didn't _look_ terribly awkward. In fact, he looked merely tired with a dash of jittery. She smiled up at him. "Hi. I certainly hope you got a little sleep last night."

"Not really. Guys had me up until the crack of dawn, talking. I'm s' tired now I think I might fall over. Just thought I'd come by and…uh…say hello. So…hello."

"Hello," she smiled. She felt her stomach tighten a little and excited little butterflies danced around. Ellis had _never_ made her feel this way. Not once. "Would you like something to eat?"

"No…no, I had some eggs." He nodded, blinking slightly. "Ballroom dancing lessons?"

"_Waltzing_, actually," she smiled. "Can you dance?"

"The waltz? No. But I can tango. Face taught me."

To say she was surprised would be an understatement. "_Face_ taught you?"

"Yeah. Just imagine me draggin' him around on a dancefloor in Poughkeepsie, New Jersey and I think that that image…"

"…is seared into my mind forever," she nodded. "Thank you. You just created a nice little nightmare for me."

"He kept cutting his lip on the rose, actually," Murdock nodded gravely. "He tried to teach me how to dirty dance, too, but frankly, I just kept thinking about my mother – if she had seen my hand on Face's behind, it'd've killed her. So…I just tango. Ten cents a dance."

Maddie fought off a bubble of laughter and shook her head. "So you can tango?"

"Yep." He nodded. "Won a contest once, in Lucerne, Switzerland…right before we blew up a Jordanian terrorist-backer's chateau. Never let it be said that we Army Rangers lack rhythm. We also have soul. And lots of mojo, plus explosive devices. But speaking of...mojo...er…have you jumped in the Blue Hole yet?" He stepped closer to her, and Maddie took a step back, testing him. He took the bait and took another step.

"Not yet." Another step back, then a step forward. He stepped back. Rumba, Maddie thought.

"Doing anything tonight?"

"Ball."

"Hm?" His brow furrowed.

"The ball. I'm going to the ball, of course."

"In that red dress from the other day? _Hubba hubba_…"

"Most certainly not. I'd die of oxygen deprivation. I'm pouring myself into something…else."

"Oh. What color is it?"

"Black."

"Hm. You'd look good in black, too." His eyes lowered to her mouth, then to her chest, and she wondered if he was imagining her in other _black_ garments. She thought briefly of the Hallowe'en costume she was thinking about wearing and wondered if either of them would still be in Morgansville for the occasion.

"You'll come to the ball, won't you?" she asked him. His eyes connected with hers again. Hm…she decided he would look really good as Captain Sir Henry Morgan, complete with high boots, eye patch and cutlass.

"I don't think so. I doubt I'd fit into such…vaunted company."

"Oh, please…it's just folks hobnobbing, name-dropping, and sneaking off into the bushes to make out. I'm sure we have a tux that'd fit you just fine."

He shook his head, and she bit back a smile, taking a good look at him. He was wearing jeans and an old Texas Rangers' T-shirt, his battered red Airborne Rangers cap pulled low over his eyes. He looked vaguely disreputable, dangerously sexy and utterly adorable all at once. "Maybe we could go swimming at the Blue Hole at the end of the week?" she suggested, taking a step toward him. He took a step back, still unconsciously in a rumba with her.

"It's gettin' to where it might be too cold for swimming," he told her, and she slipped her hand into his, palm to palm. She put her hand on his shoulder. "I was thinkin' about…uh…you know…"

"Skinny-dipping?" she raised an eyebrow, and let him take the lead, a giggle of energy rushing through her as his arm slipped around her waist.

"Well…I'm not the one who said it…" he said softly as he pulled her to him.

Maddie giggled and started to slip her arm around his neck, hoping he would follow the signal. Instead, she heard a throat clear behind her and whirled around to see her mother standing in the doorway. Anne raised her eyes to the ceiling, appeared to say some kind of very short prayer to a God she suspected was up there watching and laughing, and stepped into the ballroom. "Maddie, you need to help me find your grandmother."

"Granny? Where'd you put her?" Maddie smoothed her hair and tried to look as though she regularly blushed to her roots while dancing with eccentric pilots.

"Last I saw her, she was complaining about the heat and heading toward the lake."

"Well…you don't think she'd dive in, do you?" Maddie looked out the floor-to-ceiling ballroom windows and saw nothing but blue-gray water and no old woman with blue-gray hair splashing about. Murdock was making an attempt at a get-away, but she sidestepped him and blocked his path for the door, all without turning her back on him. She knew his game – he was of the 'kiss and run' type, apparently. Not so fast, Sky Captain, she thought, and put her hands on her hips. "Surely she's got more sense than that, Mama."

"It's been so hot today," Anne explained. "The hottest day we've had since the first day of autumn, and you know how she gets when it's hot. Captain Murdock, it's very…nice…to see you again, even if you were groping my only daughter, and how are you?"

"Very gropish," he nodded, still trying to make a break for it. But Maddie had the speed and agility of a champion cutting horse and would have none of it. She kept her body between him and the door and eyed her mother. "I…I mean, fine and dandy, ma'am." He touched the brim of his cap and made another attempt at the door, but was blocked again by a five-foot-five former ballerina. He blew out his cheeks, frustrated, and stood still, hoping she'd get distracted.

Just then, a workman came into the room, carrying a toolbox in one hand and a short ladder tucked under the other. "I'm Juan - I'm here to check the lights in the chandeliers," he told Anne, who moved aside for him. Maddie had to move out of his way, and that gave Murdock the opportunity he was looking for. He dashed toward the door, but Maddie caught up with him and blocked the doorway.

"It's so hot out there," the workman said, setting up a ladder. "Terrible heat…in fact, I saw a little old lady running through the lawn sprinklers in her underwear!"

"Please," Anne said, exasperated, turning toward the windows facing Swale House. "There's no little old lady run-…_MAMA_!" She turned and ran from ballroom, skidding as she turned into the hallway, and sped away. Maddie looked out and saw her grandmother leaping over the sprinklers, wearing nothing but her bra and panties.

"Oh…dear…" Maddie put her hand over her mouth.

"There's an understatement." Murdock peered out at the old woman, who showed remarkable spirit when Anne hove into view, running toward her at a full gallop. As soon as she saw her daughter, the woman turned and took off at a pretty fast clip, heading toward Rose Cottage and Maddie's little dock, Anne hot on her heels. "How old is that woman?"

"Eighty-nine."

"I hope I'm half that energetic if I hit that age," Murdock nodded, struggling to keep from laughing.

Maddie turned back to face him, and he finally shrugged helplessly. "You were saying something about…skinny- dipping, Captain?"

"I believe you were the one saying something about skinny-dipping. _I_ was going to say that we should…uh…go frog giggin'."

"Frog gigging?" Maddie gasped.

"Yeah. Frog giggin', and then we could turn over rocks and catch crawdads…"

"You are joking, right?"

"Well…uh…if you happened to entertain the idea of being naked while we…gig and flip rocks, I would be…er…amenable to such a…uh…notion. But I gotta go now. Guys want a tour of the town…and B.A. wants to see the car show, and Face wants to make his own preliminary judging of the beauty contest…"

Maddie sighed and shook her head. "I do have to go to this ball," she reminded him.

"And what about this Pinks and Ponies Drag Hunt thing? What in the name of Lizzie Borden's axe is that?"

"We drag scent for the hounds – the animal rights loons got all het up about a fox hunt some years ago, even though they spread rabies…the foxes, not the animal rights loons, who just spread scabies. We sic the hounds on the animal rights loons if they show up…and we have a kind of hunt type thing, every other year. This is a hunt year, alas," she sighed. "Complete pandemonium. Cowboys and goat ropers mixed in with foxhunting types from England. Hard to believe it until you see it."

"Sounds fun."

"Not as fun as frog giggin' and huntin' for crawdads, I'm sure."

"No, nothin's more fun than that," he agreed soberly.

Maddie stepped closer to him. "Are you sure about that?"

He paused, glanced nervously at the door, and moved closer. "Uh…no…" He finally gave in and kissed her, slipping his arms slowly around her waist as she stood on her toes and kissed him back. Outside, Anne chased her mother back across the green lawn of the hotel and Juan, unscrewing a lightbulb, muttered to himself in Spanish about crazy gringos and frogs.


	14. No Aspidistras Were Harmed

Season of the Witch

Part 14

Sorry it's been so long. Life is very, very busy these days. A sciatica flare-up (which lead to a trip to the chiropractor) kept me home today and I'm taking the day off tomorrow to rest…so I finally had a little time!

Note: The words Murdock uses to confuse his waltzing partner are not, to my knowledge, found in any dictionary. On this planet, anyway.

* * *

Maddie reluctantly pulled away from Murdock, who made a frustrated sound and tried to pull her back. She shook her head and sat up, still straddling his lap. "I'm sorry, but I have to get ready for the ball."

"Damn…"

They had slipped out of the ballroom and into the hotel's open courtyard, where they had enjoyed a prolonged groping session in one of the lounge chairs. Fortunately, no one had come upon them, and so Maddie didn't have to explain her unbuttoned blouse or slightly swollen lips. She extricated herself from his embrace, and he sat still for a few moments, watching as she rearranged her clothes and smoothed her hair. "I would really like it if you'd come to the ball tonight. You can bring the guys…"

He swung his legs off the chair and, after a few moments of getting himself under control, stood up. "I'll…uh…try."

She smiled at him, noting with satisfaction that he wasn't as thin as he had been when he had first arrived in Morgansville. Indeed, he was filling out, not with fat but with muscle, and he practically glowed with health. Of course, she had discovered just how healthy he was today. Everything about him was _healthy_.

"James, I have to ask you a question."

He looked at Maddie, and she saw him take a deep breath. "Okay…"

"Tonight, after the ball, how 'bout you come over to Rose Cottage and I'll…uh…make you some supper – I'm not going to the midnight supper."

"That's your question? You want me to come to supper?" He looked relieved – and a little confused.

"Yes."

"Sounds good to me. Can I ask you a question?"

"Okay…"

"Did you know you have a cute tush?"

* * *

"So this is Morgansville," Face said, looking around with interest. They were walking up Main Street and coming up to Morgan Street. "The town that time forgot."

"Also _Life_ and _Newsweek_," Hannibal said with a smile, lighting a cigar. "But I admit, it's a nice little town." Main Street was in the process of being cleared for the parade at noon, and as they crossed the street, they could see Cub Scout troops, school bands, the town's _green_ fire truck, police cars, several cowboys on horseback, and behind them, a number of floats getting lined up at the rodeo grounds, from whence they would trail northwards in a disorganized line up Kelso Lane, where they would cross over onto Chamberlain and turn west, where they would make a sharp turn back onto Main and head south through town.

Murdock, distracted and still slightly dizzy from his encounter with Maddie that morning, nodded vaguely. "Everything in this town is owned by or was owned by a Morgan," he said. "Thus…Morgan Feed and Farm Supply. Morgan Bakery. Morgan Lumber. Morgan First National Bank. Morgan Mercantile. Morgan Automotive…" He rubbed his temple – he was hungry and had no interest in parades, but Face was determined to get a good look at the girls who would be competing to be Miss Morgan County, so they would be staying for the event.

"So let me guess…the library is called the Jones Library?" Face asked with a mischievous grin.

"Morgan County Library…" Murdock muttered. They gave up on finding a place to sit and finally took spots on the curb, stretching their legs out, amongst what seemed like a whole herd of wild children. Everyone looked up when they heard the sound of a whistle blowing – loudly, causing the men to jerk with alarm. Then the team and the children watched in various degrees of fascination and horror as a Sherman tank turned onto Main and started rolling toward them, led by a group of United States Army Reserve servicemen carrying carbines and marching in perfect formation, led by a fierce-looking Colonel on a particularly mean-looking white horse. Sitting on top of the tank and waving to the crowds, smiling graciously but likely hoping the tank was extremely clean, were six lovely young women, all at this point merely Princesses of the Court.

"Man, that could warp a man's attitude towards women," B.A. pointed out as the soldiers stomped by. As he spoke, the soldiers stopped at a loud shout from the Colonel on the horse, let out a bellowing "Hup!" and banged their carbines to the ground, standing at attention. The girls on the tank waved. "See what I mean? Look at these little boys, man." He gestured to the transfixed boys on either side of them, all staring wide-eyed at the girls in the tank. "Their whole lives, they'll see a pretty girl and they'll hear carbines banging on the ground and will stand at attention. Warped, man."

Face was too busy sizing up the looks of the girls to pay attention to B.A. He liked what he saw – Texas did, after all, have a reputation for producing gorgeous women, and these girls lived up to the hype. He decided the pretty blonde in the white gown had the best chances of winning the contest. There really was nothing quite like a healthy country girl…

Murdock certainly didn't think about military matters when he thought about Maddie – in fact, he hadn't thought about his former life in the Army or even his life on the run while in Morgansville. He stretched his legs out, remembering his grandfather telling him that sitting on cold concrete caused hemorrhoids. The concrete was warm, though, so he figured he was in no danger. The tank started up again and the soldiers clomped on by. A quartet of police cars – all the police cars of Morgansville, in fact – rolled by, followed by a policeman on foot, being dragged along by a nervous-looking German Shepherd that made up the town's K-9 unit (the dog wore a coat that displayed his name: Jerry Lee, aka 'The Killer'). Behind them marched the town's volunteer firemen, with the lime-green fire truck being driven by the fire chief, its lights flashing. The firemen tossed candy to the kids, and Murdock dove in to grab a few pieces as well. He settled back on the curb, eating a Tootsie Roll and watching the Cub Scouts walk by, disorganized and resplendent in their uniforms and tossing candy to the crowds lining the street.

Next up were the cowboys on their horses. A few of the horses made deposits on the street, but were otherwise a popular sight, getting rounds of enthusiastic applause. Behind them (avoiding the horses' contributions to the parade) marched the Morgansville Pirates High School Marching Band, playing a sea-faring tune of some kind that none of the men recognized (none of them being sea-faring types). Behind them came various other floats, including one decorated with grapevines, overflowing buckets of grapes and different kinds of cheese, with several lovely but nervous-looking young women in Greek-style gowns waving to the crowd. The float wavered from side to side just a bit but otherwise continued on down the street. A flower-covered, tea-pot shaped float representing the Morgansville Hotel rolled by, and Murdock glimpsed Maddie sitting on the float with her mother, wearing an ice-blue dress and waving to the crowds, but her eyes were scanning the crowds. When she saw him, she smiled and gave him a personal wave, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a shy smile back. Face gave her a loud wolf-whistle, which made Murdock glare at him, but Maddie only burst into laughter. She resumed her waving and throwing candy to the kids and rolled on by, followed by several more decorated floats. A parade of vintage cars finished up the parade, the last one a gorgeous 1957 Ford Mustang convertible containing the mayor and other city officials.

"Stop whistling at Maddie," Murdock grouched at Face.

"Oh, right. Only you may ogle Captain Morgan…good rum…"

"Shut up, all right?" Murdock grouched, not wanting to admit that he _was_ ogling her and if it hadn't been for Hannibal ordering him to come back to Swale House that morning, he would still be at the hotel, ogling, canoodling and otherwise diddling with Maddie in the hotel courtyard. Hell, if he had been really lucky, he might be with her at Rose Cottage right now, instead of watching a stupid parade.

Murdock _hated_ parades. Hated how they clogged up traffic for hours. Hated the noise and the horse crap that had to be cleaned up. He particularly hated the clowns. In high school, he had once worked with a crew dismantling parade floats, and frankly, that had sealed his loathing for the whole business of parades completely.

He was getting hungrier and hungrier. Once the Mustang rolled elegantly by, the crowds began trailing off in search of something to eat. He jumped to his feet and started toward the town's only café, which was called The Oxford (after Sir Henry Morgan's flagship), Hannibal, B.A. and Face on his heels. The clattered into the café, noted with joy that one of the booths was unoccupied and settled in. A waitress bustled by and handed them some menus.

"I'll have a couple of everything, with some apple pie on the side," Murdock muttered. Hannibal grinned.

"So how have things been going, son?" the Colonel asked him.

"Okay, so far," Murdock nodded. He finally decided on chicken fried steak. The harried waitress returned and they all ordered.

"Just 'okay'?" Face grinned, once the girl was gone. "You and Maddie are BFF's forever now?"

Murdock flushed and looked away. "Er…we're…good friends, yeah."

Face looked amused and drained his glass of iced tea. "Oh, damn, that's good. I forgot that only Southerners should be allowed to make iced tea." He waved the waitress over and asked for a refill. She took the order and bustled away. The café was filling up to the point of being a fire hazard, and was becoming extremely loud as well. Hannibal leaned forward. "So what's the deal with the house we're staying in?" he asked loudly, barely being heard over the din.

"We're going to be doing a lot of repair and renovations on the place," Murdock nodded. "Y'all can take up whatever rooms you think are…uh…suitable."

"I like that big room with the ceiling fan," Face nodded. "Overlooking the water. I saw at least three boats go by, all with bikini-clad girls in them. Hubba hubba…God, I love Texas…"

Murdock rolled his eyes and drank his tea. "Geez, Face, why don't you just strap a mattress to your back?"

Peck ignored him and drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. "Wait a minute…" Face shook himself out of his reveries about the local beauties. "We'll be doing _what_?"

"Cleaning up, repairing, renovation…modernizing, and so forth," Murdock nodded. "For room and board."

Face slumped against the seat and sighed. "So this is a working vacation, eh?"

"You could say that. Better than prison, I'd say," Murdock nodded. "Better than any VA hospital I've ever lived in, too."

Hannibal nodded and drained his glass of iced tea. "I have to agree with that. And we're all very good at fixing and building things, so I think we'll do just fine."

"We'll all have to pull our own weight," Murdock said pointedly, giving Face a hard look. The con artist frowned at him.

"What? You think I won't pitch in?"

"You hate getting dirty," Murdock reminded him. "I doubt you ever even made a mud pie in the back yard, when you were a kid."

"I played doctor with the girls, thank you," Face reminded him with a lofty grin. "And girls don't like mud. Well, some do, but then they're all muddy and I don't like _them_…"

Murdock contemplated his glass of tea, thinking and feeling that little twinge of jealousy again, with regard to Face. The lieutenant had never had a moment of disquiet over pursuing a woman, and as far as Murdock knew, he had never failed. Murdock, on the other hand, generally just avoided women, figuring they would easily figure out that he was too crazy or dangerous to cope with, and run the other way. Why Maddie even seemed interested still left him puzzled, even if it was exhilarating at the same time.

Still, it wasn't as though he was quite willing to ask for any advise from Peck. He drank down his tea and flagged down the waitress for a refill. If he was really in need of advice, he would ask Hannibal. Maybe he'd be able to come up with a reasonable – or at least rational – plan.

* * *

The four men paused in the doorway of the Morgan Hotel Ballroom, and only Face looked pleased. "So many women!" he said, sounding positively giddy. "Look at 'em…and look at that…period dresses…so fun to remove!"

A group of teenagers dressed in period costume were walking in the middle of the ballroom. All the girls were wearing beautiful, hooped gowns while the boys were wearing perfectly tailored swallow-tailed tuxedos, except for one boy, who was wearing a beechnut grey Confederate uniform, complete with gold epaulettes and a red sash around his waist, and at his hip was an old but beautifully-maintained cavalry sword with an elaborate hilt. He was dancing with a pretty little blonde in an emerald green dress, and they were keeping pace with the other waltzing teens.

"Jailbait, Faceman," Hannibal warned, easily averaging the age of the girls at about seventeen. "Way, way too young."

"Well…yeah… But, wow…I really need to learn to waltz," Face said. He straightened the cuffs on his suit and grinned at Murdock, who was squirming in his own dark suit and tie. Peck had had to practically threaten Murdock to even put the suit on, much less wear the leather shoes. Hannibal and B.A. looked only slightly less uneasy in their attire, but at least they didn't look like they wanted to run from the room and hide in a tree, which was what Murdock might have done if Hannibal hadn't prodded him forward.

"You can't dirty dance here," Murdock reminded Peck, after giving Hannibal a cold look. Peck just grinned, already scoping out potential partners for the evening.

"Aw, why not? Might liven up the evening!" He stepped into the room, snatching a fluted glass of champagne from a passing tray and headed into the crowd, which was gathered around the dance floor, watching the teens perform their Vienna waltz. Murdock, needing some means of calming his unsettled nerves, grabbed a glass of champagne for himself and followed B.A. and Hannibal into the fray.

* * *

Six glasses of champagne was all it took, and then some. Murdock hadn't had so much to drink since graduating from MIT, and frankly, he was vaguely recalling exactly why he otherwise avoided drinking to excess. It wasn't as though he became violent or mean or anything like that. It was just that he got…well, he didn't know the word for it. Maybe just goofy on top of being weird. Considering that he was doing his best to avoid dancing with a large woman, but failing miserably at said mission, champagne sure didn't _sharpen_ his reflexes. He dodged behind two other dancers, tried to fake a left, but was knocked back into play by another pair of dancers and sure enough, the zaftig but otherwise pleasant woman had him back in her big meathooks again and he was being bounced around the ballroom like a rubber ball. What amazed him was how nimble he was. He continued waltzing, occasionally catching a glimpse of Face with some sleek beauty (his sixth so far for the night, which had not yet topped his record) or Hannibal turning on the Irish brogue for some bubbly redhead (he had a thing about redheads) or even B.A. dancing with a knockout with legs like a Tennessee Walking Horse.

B.A.? Dancing? Where was the first Horseman of the Apocalypse?

Murdock tried to make a turn, not caring that it meant he was a cad for doing so, but his partner was bigger and stronger (and Murdock wasn't about to deliver a strong right hook, as for all her strength she was still a woman) and steered him back in the right direction (with Murdock counting in his head and telling himself to face the window, face the wall, face the window, face the wall…it was really getting hard on his alcohol-buzzing brain). They spun back around the ballroom again, her hand gripping his so tight he thought he was going to go from twenty-seven bones to fifty-four. He winced and tried to pull away, but she had her other hand firmly clutching his side, and he wondered if she was going to come away with his appendix before the waltz was over.

"You are definitely a good dancer, Mr Murdock!" his dancing partner hooted enthusiastically.

"Ufunwugah!" he told her with great authority. "Fumuguwah!"

"Huh?"

"'zactly! Now lemme go!" He jerked away from her and somehow managed to avoid getting tangled up in a group of Worth-clad teenaged girls. It took a bit of re-establishing his balance to avoid throwing up into a helpless aspidistra in the ballroom's corner, but he did finally manage to make it to a chair. He sat down, loosed his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and tried to remember how one went about breathing correctly. Something about…inbib…no, no…inhaling! Yes! Inhale! How come only the women could carry those damned fans? Why couldn't the men?

He hadn't seen Maddie at all. It was starting to worry him, even in his champagne-addled mind, and he scanned the crowd, but still saw no sign of her. He saw Anne dancing with the mayor, and several of Maddie's cousins – there were about four thousand of them, from what Murdock could recall – but no sign of the woman he _wanted_ to see. He stretched his legs out and closed his eyes.

"Hi."

He sat up straight and looked up, drunk and goofy, at Maddie, who was standing there looking like a million bucks in a sleek black cocktail dress. She had her hair up in some kind of twist, with what looked like a diamond chain intertwined in the dark tresses. He stared stupidly at her, speechless and besotted. _Long cool woman in a black dress, _he thought before hiccupping. Oh well. It wasn't as though he looked his best. No point trying to sound all that smooth either.

"You've been drinking," she said after a few moments.

"Um-huh," he nodded. "Where've you…you been?" he asked, hiccupping again.

"Meet'n greet," she said, shaking her head sadly. "I already saw the others. They said you were waltzing with a large woman in a red dress?"

"Aye, aye, Capi…Captain," he nodded. "The Red Queen, from _Alice in Wonderland_," he burbled. "Off with his head!"

"Right." Maddie rolled her eyes. "Can you stay there for a minute? I'll be right back."

Murdock nodded, giggled and hiccupped again. He closed his eyes, wavering a little as the dance floor tilted. Rough seas tonight, he thought, and this sailor had forgotten his Dramamine. He opened them again and was treated to the sight of Maddie's cousin Caerlina gliding by in the red and black Worth gown Maddie had almost been asphyxiated by a few days earlier. He frowned. She looked good in it, yes, but Lord have mercy, Maddie looked a hell of a lot better out of it. Hell, Maddie would look good in a flour sack. Or out of that, too, for that matter…

Caerlina saw him sitting there and floated over to him. She smiled at him, an ethereal creature with a black silk rose in her hair and diamonds around her neck. "Hi," Caerlina said with a smile. "You're…Mr Murdock, right?"

"Capitan…Cakaptitan…Captain!" he corrected.

"I see. Well…you're alone?"

"Yope…nope…" He shook his head, trying to clear it. _Never drink champagne again as long as you live_, he told himself firmly. "Here wif my fr-friends…an' Maddie…"

"Oh…you're…"

"Beat it, Caerlina," Maddie said. Caerlina swirled gracefully around and was face to face with her cousin. "Or shall I break out the peanut butter?"

"Fine, fine…why don't you just pee all over him, to mark him as your territory?" But Caerlina was wisely moving away from Murdock and her cousin.

Maddie looked at Murdock, who was starting to list a bit to the side, but was otherwise still upright. She glared at Caerlina. "I don't need to do that. Besides, even if I did, it wouldn't matter to you, would it? Not even wedding rings seem to give you pause."

Caerlina bristled. "That was a misunderstanding, and the press went all bonkers over it! But fine…fine, I'll go." She rolled her eyes, squared her shoulders and glided away toward the swirling dancers, like a swan swimming over a smooth pond.

"James? Can you stand up?"

"I don't know. Can I?" He blinked up at her. "You look so pretty."

She smiled at him, blushing a little. "Thank you."

"I think I might throw up. It's so hot in here!"

"Well, then, aim in the opposite direction. This dress cost two hundred dollars. It's a Dior."

"A door?"

"Dior!"

"Dee or what?"

"James!"

"I love coffee…and I love tea…" He stood up, wavering a little but maintaining an upright position nonetheless, not caring a bit that he was making no sense whatsoever. "I love the java jive, and it loves me…"

"That's very interesting. How much did you drink?"

"Six…or eight…flutes of champagne. Why are they called flutes, anyhow? They don't look like flutes. You can't play a champagne flute."

"Very true." Maddie smiled graciously at the mayor as he passed, and steered Murdock toward a side door.

"We should Google it. Find out why."

"Excellent idea. See the nice step? Step down…that's it…now see the next step?"

He nodded and continued bravely on down the steps, but forgot that eventually the steps ended at the grass and he kept trying to climb down. He almost ended up on his knees, but dragged himself back up, stood swaying for a moment, and finally lurched forward again, Maddie at his side, keeping him propped up.

"Okay, now, James, listen to me. Look at me! James!"

He looked at her. "Okay. Listening…"

"We're going to walk down that stone pathway," she said, pointing to a cobbled path that seemed to gleam in the moonlight. "But if you feel like you're going to fall, fall _away_ from the rocks, so you don't hurt yourself, okay?"

He spread his hands out in a firm gesture. "Fine!"

She nodded and led him to the pathway. He was doing fairly well at this point, walking from the back of the hotel toward Rose Cottage. She had taken off her high heels and was walking through the wet grass in her bare feet, finding the cobbles painful, but whatever James was doing, it couldn't be properly defined as 'walking'. He was weaving around, heading in the wrong direction more often than not, but was doing his best to stay vertical. She had to give him credit for that much.

"We're going to walk up _these_ steps," she said, pointing to the sidewalk ahead, and the three steps they'd have to climb to get up to the path that led to her house. "And when we get inside, I'll…uh…put you to bed, okay?"

"Okeedokee, daddy-o," he nodded, giggling cheerfully. "I mean…mommy-o!"

"Riiight… Come on now, follow me…can you follow me?"

"To the ends of the earth…or at least to a fairly comfortable bed…" He took a few more steps, his knees buckled a little and he started falling. Maddie rushed to him and caught him, and was startled to find his face almost between her breasts. "Um…nice pillows…" He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully, and his hand cupped the side of her breast. "Mm…they smell nice…"

"James! Stand up straight!" she said, smacking the back of his head. He jerked back up and stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Maddie…" he said, and she backed away a few steps, toward the cottage. Murdock followed her, and she realized that the easiest way to get him to stay upright and follow her was to not so much lead him as to entice him.

"Come on…" She reached up and took the pin out of her hair, and slowly removed the diamond chain from her hair, which fell down around her bare shoulders. He continued toward her, and she had to actually walk backwards up the steps and onto her stone path to Rose Cottage. Murdock's steps were unwavering now as he pursued her toward her house, a look of hazy determination on his face. She got up on the porch and waited for him.

"I'm doin' okay now. I'm doin' okay…" he babbled as he climbed up on her porch. "Doin' good…doin' good…" He started toward her, but seemed to lose his balance again and she was alarmed as he staggered helplessly toward the rose bushes. "Doin' bad! Doin' bad! _Doin' bad_! Oy gevalt!" Murdock yelped as he fell into the bushes. Maddie clapped her hand to her mouth and stood there, uncertain of what she ought to do now, and watched as he somehow extricated himself from the thorny grasp of the bushes and pulled himself back onto the porch, jerking thorns out of his hands.

"James! Are you all right?" she asked, rushing to him. She plucked a few rose leaves out of his hair and off his coat. "Oh, no…you've been scratched. Did you hit your head? Oh…poor baby…" Maddie touched the scratches on his forehead and cheek and determined that they weren't serious.

"Catscratch…"

"No, no…that's rose thorns."

He kissed her then, pulling her roughly against him. Maddie tasted champagne and slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He moved her to the wall of her porch and kissed her thoroughly, stroking her tongue with his own while she moaned and writhed, pulling at his hair and finally sliding her hands under his collar and feeling his hard muscles. He muttered something in what sounded like French as he began kissing her neck, his hands slipping to her waist and then up to her breasts.

"Want you…" he said against her neck. "So bad…damn…drunken twit…" He lifted his head, but his body was still aligned with hers. "_Te volim, beba_…"

"Do you think you can make it inside?" she whispered between kisses.

"It's a wonder I'm even upright now." He stood back and ran his hand through his hair, catching a few leaves and tossing them away. He blinked and shook his head several times, trying to clear away the champagne bubbles. "Maddie, I…I'm sorry…I'm just…I'm such a…I mean, I don't…" He wavered again, and she watched in dismay as his knees buckled and he collapsed at her feet, rolling flat on his back, sound asleep and snoring only very softly.

She sighed and looked around, wondering if she should go back and get Hannibal or Face to help her drag him inside. But she nixed that idea quickly. Instead, she knelt down, prodding her drunken would-be lover's shoulder until he finally stirred.

"Wake up. You can't sleep on the porch. Mosquitoes will eat you alive."

"Skeet…"

"Yes. Can you get up again?"

"Can't feel my legs."

Maddie was momentarily alarmed, but soon realized that it was just the alcohol and not actual paralysis. She poked his shoulder a few times, but that only got a mildly grumpy flutter of words in some other language. She sat back and pondered for a moment, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Get up, baby, and you can sleep with me."

He was on his feet in a flash, heading toward the door. His determination was quelled a bit, however, as the door was still locked and very solid, which caused him to smack into it. Maddie rushed around and got it open after batting his fumbling hands away from the doorknob. He grabbed the knob, lost his balance _again_ and went sliding with surprising grace into her front hallway, still holding onto the doorknob. "Whoa! That was fun! Let's do it again!"

"James, up on your feet again…remember…you get to sleep with me, right?"

"Hm…yeah." He grinned manically and grabbed her, pulling her down into his lap. Maddie wriggled, trying to get him to let her go, but to no avail. He touched her lower lip with his thumb, and she looked up into his beautiful green eyes, for the first time understanding what the term 'bewitched' meant. She shifted, carefully arranging herself so that she was straddling his hips. He kissed her again, slanting his mouth over hers as his hands fumbled to find the zipper of her dress. He finally came upon it and began tugging on it.

"Not with the door open, James…come on…" she whispered. She pulled herself out his arms, ignoring his frustrated growl, and got back to her feet. He somehow managed to get back to his feet, with only minimal assistance from Maddie. Murdock clattered down the hallway and into her cozy little dining room, and collapsed into a chair at the table. She pushed the door shut and locked it methodically, wondering how she was going to handle this.

He seemed to be coming back to himself, at least a little. She took a seat opposite him at the table and watched him rub his face and run his hands through his out-of-control hair. "Well…ouch…" He plucked a rose thorn out of his hand and examined his scratched finger.

"I probably ought to tell you straight out what I was _intending_ to do tonight," she said.

"Oh…" He blinked and stared at her.

"I did kind of think about getting you drunk," she nodded. "But then I thought perhaps you'd have trouble with your balance, and I appear to be correct in my initial assessment. You, sir, cannot hold your liquor."

"No, I can't…but…but why'd ya wanna get me drunk?"

"Well…" Maddie shrugged, making a feminine, 'I've-got-it-all-together' motion with her hands, brushing her bangs back a bit. "I was going to seduce you, actually."

His eyes widened, and he blinked. Then he leaned forward, clapping his hands on the table, and started to speak, but she cut him off, albeit gently.

"Or not. And now it's fairly obvious you need to sleep this off."

Murdock stared at her, bleary-eyed and only barely able to keep his train of thought on its tracks. He continued to stare at her, his expression slowly softening as everything became very, very clear. "You're so beautiful."

"Oh…well…thank you…" She pinked a little.

"So beautiful. Every day, all day, the only thing I can think about is just getting a…a…glimpse of you. Or catching your scent, or hearing you sing, or…or anything…to…to get my fix for the day, like a…a drug. I watch you from my porch, y'know…I can see into your bedroom…"

"I know," she nodded. She reached across the table and touched his hands. "Sometimes I think about just going ahead and giving you a proper show, but…" She shrugged. "Then I think about hotel guests also getting a show, so I don't. Regardless of how much the rooms cost, that kind of thing does not come with the accommodations. Besides, there's a couple of things I think you should know about me, and they're kinda…major."

He blinked, looking confused. "What things?"

"Well…I'm…uh…"

"A witch?" He nodded. "Bewitching, yes, but I can't see you practicing the dark arts...much less goin' all Goth and icky on me…" He shuddered.

She giggled in spite of her growing nervousness. "No, I'm not a witch."

Murdock pondered, and finally nodded. "Oh God...you're a Democrat! Please don't tell me you're a Democrat. That would just be too much…I can't handle a Democrat…I just can't…" He rubbed his forehead.

"I'm not a Democrat," she laughed, shaking her head. "It's nothing like that. I don't even turn on my television during election season."

"Ditto, baby. I jus' wish politicians'd just come out and say that they just want attention. So…I know…you're a pirate! Like your infamous ancestor! You sail on the waters of Lake Morgan, robbing Yankee vessels and taking potshots at Californians' vast lakeside cabins with your cannon!"

She giggled in her hand, enjoying his vivid imagination. "No, I am not a pirate."

His shoulders slumped, and he stared at her, his drunken haze deepening, causing him to become very, very sleepy. "Okay. So…you're what, then?"

"Uh…I have to admit, I don't really know how to tell you about this. I mean, these days, you admit to being…what I am…and at my age...and people think you're a freak."

"Well, I can assure you, you are not a freak," Murdock shook his head. Unfortunately, that particular motion made him get dizzy again. "Tell me, 'fore I pass out, 'kay?"

"I think it can wait. Frankly, you need to be put to bed."

"You said you'd sleep with me." He started to stand up, but didn't quite make it and had to plop back into the chair again. Maddie came around to his side and hauled him up, using all her of her strength to get him to his feet.

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yup. I expect to hold you to your word. Which way's the bedroom? Take me to it, you saucy wench!"

"Come on, this way," she said, tugging him down the hallway.

Murdock let himself be guided down the hallway, but what little equilibrium he possessed was shot all to pieces and he started losing his balance again. "Oops…okay…okay…doin' good…doin' good…nope, nope, doin' bad, doin' bad!" He staggered away from her, tilted past her bedroom door and this time he did actually become entangled in some kind of tall, leafy plant at the end of the hallway. "It's trying to eat me!" he shrieked, panicking, unable to extricate himself from its leafy grasp.

"No it's not!" she said, unable to contain her laughter any more. "They only do that in _Little Shop of Horrors_. Come on…" She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the plant and back toward her bedroom door. She shoved him into the room and turned on the light. He blinked and weaved his way to her bed. He started taking his shoes off, but lost his balance and fell down again. While lying on the floor, he tugged each shoe off and threw them across the room, where they banged against her closet door.

"Oh, James, please…stop falling down. You'll chip a tooth. C'mon, back up…" She pulled him back up and finally got him standing relatively still. She undid his tie, pulling it away and letting it drop the floor. She looked up and saw his eyes darken, and had no trouble at all with standing on her toes and kissing him again. Maddie undid the buttons on his shirt as they kissed, but then backed away from him, turning off the light. "Want me turn on the AC?"

"No…I'm okay…" He stumbled over to the bed, and she watched him remove his shirt and his dark pants. Just a T-shirt and black boxers remained, and in spite of his drunkenness he still determined to get rid of his socks. He did so clumsily, trying to step on his own toes to pull them off. It took a few tries, but he was finally successful and with that, he staggered to the bed and clambered in like a child, flopping onto his back. He stretched out, exhausted and just barely awake. "G'night, Maddie…_mi bello pequeño bruja_."

She unzipped her dress, hung it carefully on a padded hanger, and slipped into the bed wearing nothing but a silk bodyslip. For several moments, she lay there, propped up on her elbow, watching him drift into a deep sleep. Smiling softly, she touched his cheek. "You are easily the sweetest, craziest man I have ever known," she whispered to him. "Please…don't ever change."

Maddie gave him a soft kiss on his lips, and he mumbled something about witches. She smiled, put her arm across his chest, settled her head on his shoulder and went to sleep, more comfortable than she'd ever been in her life.


	15. Manageable

Season of the Witch

Chapter 15

* * *

"Who are you and what are you doing in my granddaughter's bed?"

Murdock was jolted out of a warm and cozy sleep by a loud, angry voice, and he sat up, which was his first mistake. The room immediately began spinning, and when he tried to get out of the bed and run away from the screeching creature at the foot of the bed, he only flipped out and landed on his back on the hardwood floor. The pain then was excruciating, and like all hung-over persons, he began praying for death.

The old woman rounded on him, and Murdock was horrified to see that she was holding a broom. He prepared himself for a solid whacking, but instead the old woman just stood there, glaring down at him in disapproval. She was a small, slender woman with blue-gray hair tied back in a bun, but even in his hung over state, and the throbbing pain starting behind his eyes, he could detect a glint of humor – and pure mischief - in her eyes.

"All right, all right…get up and put your clothes on. I always did want to goof on a drunk." She looked around the room, with its soft blue walls, crisp white accents and coastal designs, and shook her head. "Though I never thought I'd be goofing on a man I found in Madelia's bed."

"I swear…I swear, nothing happened…" He struggled to his feet, clutching the bedside table when he finally got vertical. "I mean, I was drunk, so it didn't…though, frankly, it probably should have…but it didn't…or it could have…and I obviously should shut up now!" He held his head with his hands, finding that to be the most comfortable place for his throbbing skull. But he soon remembered that he needed to get dressed. Somehow, standing around in Madelia's bedroom in his skivvies with her _grandmother_ looking at him seemed improper.

"Probably," she nodded. "I'm Georgia, by the way." She gave him a long, narrow look, not even bothering to turn around as he pulled his pants on. "Why do you look familiar?"

"You gave me piano lessons when I was a kid…I spent a few summers up here with my aunt…?" He rubbed his eyes and winced when Georgia pulled the curtains open and sunlight poured in.

"Oh, yes. 'Great Balls of Fire'," she nodded, shaking her head. "James Murdock." She put her hands on her hips. "I remember your grandfather. He was a rabble-rousing scoundrel, too. And handsome. Very, very handsome."

"He did not raise rabble," Murdock muttered, walking gingerly toward the bathroom. Georgia's mouth twitched a little, and she stepped aside. He studied the sink for a second, finally remembered how to operate the knobs, and turned on the cold water tap. "Wait…handsome?"

"Yes, he was. You look like him, actually. Same eyes. Excellent posture, odd nose, devilish." Georgia shook her head. "All the Murdock men were handsome. Your daddy certainly was a good-lookin' feller." She looked around the room, pondering over something. "I just hope you're not like _him_. He was the black sheep of that otherwise respectable family."

"I never knew him," Murdock answered, getting a little grumpy now that she had him completely confused. He was usually ill-tempered when he was hung over, anyway. Not that he would have any reason to be cheerful…

"Right." She nodded. "Nobody ever said where he lit off to. Rumor is that he's in Tennessee."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…"

He stumbled back out of the bathroom, found his shirt and jacket, and pulled them on, then scrambled for his socks and shoes. It surprised him that he was able to even dress himself, much less remain upright, but at least he would he able to make it back to Swale House without causing a ruckus. He looked back at Georgia, who was still studying him, having leaned the broom against the bed. Her hands were on her hips, and Murdock could see where Maddie got her small, slim figure. He recalled Maddie telling him that Georgia was eighty-nine, but she was clearly an energetic and healthy woman bound to live another decade or so.

"Have fun runnin' through the spinklers?" he asked her, raising one eyebrow.

"I did, actually. Seriously, though, my Annie needs to lighten up a little."

"Well, public semi-nudity is still against the law. I know this from vivid personal experience."

"Do you?"

Georgia followed him out of Maddie's bedroom, obviously curious about his experience with public indecency, but he offered no further information. "Where's Maddie?" he asked.

"At the hotel. So am I to guess that you're her boyfriend?"

"I…uh…" He scratched the back of his head, thinking about that. He was too old to be a 'boyfriend'. "I…I…don't really…know."

"Well. She deserves the best. Nothing less." Georgia frowned at him, looking him up and down. "What do you do?"

"With what?" He was hoping to escape from this interview and go to bed for a few days.

"As your job. What do you do for a living?"

"Uh…I'm…I was in the Army…but I'm kinda…retired. I'm a pilot." He pinched the bridge of his nose, but that didn't help alleviate his pounding headache. "Now I guess you'd say I was at loose ends. But I'm working on Swale House…"

"Hm. Rank?"

"James Harlan Mills Murdock, Captain, serial number six-nine-five-oh-seven-five-two-nine."

"Hm." Grace put the broom back in Maddie's bright, cheerful kitchen and turned back to study him. "My granddaughter deserves the _very_ best, Captain," she reiterated, giving him a narrow look. "Your first obstacle, of course, will be her brothers. There's six of them."

"So I heard, and thank you for telling me that while I'm feeling my very worst. Really brightened up my day. Why don't you tell me I have three months to live and that my dog died?"

"No problem," Grace nodded, obviously pleased to be of assistance. Murdock glared at her and finally turned and fled.

* * *

Face was eager to interrogate Murdock about his escapades of the night before, but Hannibal shoved him out the door and back outside, where he was assigned to help B.A. kill weeds growing up in the brick patio. Murdock skittered around the kitchen, making coffee and obviously hoping to escape his CO's questions, but he wasn't so lucky. Hannibal didn't seem to care about Murdock's pounding headache. He instead gestured for Murdock sit down at the card table that served as their dining table.

"C'mon, Hannibal, I'm really tired…"

"This could get very, very complicated, Captain," Hannibal warned him, sitting down opposite him. "I know you like Maddie, and I know she likes you. That's pretty obvious."

"It is?" Murdock asked, perking up a little. "I…I mean…uh…"

"She looks at you the way B.A. looks at his van." Hannibal nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He had a bit of a hangover himself, having unwisely accepted a glass of dewberry wine from a small, trim old woman with a wicked glint in her eye. He wasn't entirely sure of what had happened next, but B.A. and Face had both had to drag him out of the ballroom and dunk him in the pool.

"Uh…raise your hand if 'ew'…that's really not an analogy I appreciate, boss." Murdock raised his hand and shuddered.

"Sorry, but at this hour that's the best I can come up with. But really, listen to me. I don't blame you for wanting to have a serious relationship with a woman, and with Maddie that's the only kind you can have. But you have a different kind of life, James. Or…uh…at least you did." Hannibal frowned, the sudden realization of what might happen dawning on him. Murdock might very well decide to stay in Texas with Maddie. What would happen to the team? He frowned at Murdock, fighting his own desire to have Murdock continue working with them because he was so vital to the team, and desperately wanting Murdock – and all his boys – to be happy in their own lives. They all deserved that, after what they had been through. There was never any sort of competition between them to see who had had the hardest life, but Hannibal knew Murdock had endured far more grief and pain than any of them. Right now, though, in spite of an obvious hangover, the pilot looked healthy, relaxed and happy. That had a lot to do with a pretty brunette back at the Morgan Hotel.

"What's gonna happen?" Murdock asked, his expression uneasy.

"Uh…well…" Hannibal rubbed his face, choosing his words carefully. "I don't think Maddie would enjoy a life on the run, Murdock. She is clearly of the home and hearth type, which is great, but…are you?"

Murdock began wringing his hands, a clear sign of nervousness. Hannibal decided that he had pushed the issue quite enough for now and stood. "Hey, listen, it's just something to think about, and for the two of you to discuss. She's back at the hotel, right?"

"Right."

"You spent the night with her last night?"

"I…yeah." Murdock's cheeks pinked, to Hannibal's amusement. His eyes widened then, which caused Hannibal to look at him quizzically. The Colonel finally turned around and was startled – and then even more amused – to see Maddie standing outside the screen door.

"Well, hello, Captain Morgan," Hannibal said, opening the door and grinning at her.

"Good rum!" Face called from the brick patio, where he and B.A. were spraying weed killer on the inappropriate grass growing up between the bricks.

"Shut up, Face. Come on in," Hannibal grinned at her and gestured for her to enter. She was wearing a boat-necked light blue shirt and faded boot-cut jeans, with her feet in scuffed old cowboy boots, and Hannibal could see why Murdock was so clearly loopy about her. She had looked spectacular last night. Today, she looked bloody _smashing._ "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you, Colonel. Captain…" She looked at him, her expression uncertain, and finally gave Hannibal a look that clearly said 'Scat!'. Smith rarely took orders from lower-ranking officers, but he knew when he was not wanted and made tracks out to the porch. He watched Face and B.A. work for a little while before finally sitting down and lighting a cigar and enjoying the breeze. He soon realized, however, that he was not able to hear what was being said in the kitchen and gestured for Face to come over to discuss a mission.

* * *

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm sorry I left…but I had a lot to do for the festival…and I'm really sorry about my grandmother. She said she found you…"

"Yeah. Thank God I was fully dressed…or…well, dressed somewhat."

"You were pretty drunk last night, but I am glad you didn't take _everything_ off. Then again, if you had gotten into the dewberry wine, I'm pretty sure the police would be still be around taking statements from witnesses."

"Dewberry wine…I've heard about that stuff. Powerful hooch."

She slowly sat down opposite him. He watched her warily, wondering if he had done anything _untoward_ last night. If he had, he would have to apologize if he had offended her, and then he'd spend the rest of his life wishing he could _remember_ having done anything untoward. He was hardly the 'slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am' type, much less the kind of guy who went for drunken one-night-stands, but…he was having trouble recalling the events of last night aside from dancing with a red rubber ball and then a brief conversation with a red and black swan. Things had only started getting fuzzy after that.

"Oh…I thought I should bring you this, before I head off to town," she said, extracting a small packet from her pocket. "Local hangover cure."

He frowned at the packet and read aloud from the label. "'Captain Morgan's Morning Rumble'."

"It's really very effective. A cousin of mine developed it over the years. It's not FDA approved, but it's very effective. It also makes your hair more shiny and manageable." She primped her hair a little.

"Well, that's the real selling point!" he said, opening the package and extracting two pills. "This won't make me talk like a girl, will it?"

"Well…um…not that I know of. I certainly hope not!"

He popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with his coffee. Maddie smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back, delighted to see her even in his nervous and unsettled state. "So…uh…did I…um…take any…er…liberties?"

Maddie's expression was serious as she traced her finger along a crack in the top of coffee table. "Well…I am on the way to my doctor, for the Morning After pill."

His eyes widened in shock and horror, and she was only able to hold herself together for a moment before bursting into laughter. "I'm only joking. You were a perfect gentleman. Well…a drunk and rather…er…_amorous_ gentleman, but even then you were very sweet, and nothing happened, aside from us just sharing the bed."

"I was? I mean…we did? We…oh…" He squeezed his eyes shut, another wave of pain and nausea hitting him. "Right. Well…that's why I was in your bed."

"Exactly. And I must say, you are an _excellent_ kisser, even when inebriated. And you don't even snore! But you did fall into the rose bushes. And then you were almost devoured by my aspidistra. Thus those little scratches on your face and your hands."

"Oh. I was wondering about that. Wait a minute…I _am_? Oh, dear God, did you hit your head last night? Is that it?"

"What?"

"I mean…I mean, nobody…" He sat back in the chair, scooted back, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping on the floor, stood and walked to the swinging kitchen door, hit it hard, heard Face's "Ow! My nose!" and went back to the chair. "Nobody ever said that about me."

"Well, if they didn't, they were as dumb as posts." She shook her head. "You really do have some self-confidence issues, don't you?"

"Only on solid ground." He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, indicating the sky. "Up there, I'm just fine. The guy outside the kitchen door with the _broken nose_ has all the earthbound confidence and then some. I don't." He turned and frowned at the door, and Face finally stumbled in, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes full of tears, looking indignant.

"Thath wath riddy cwuel!" he snapped at Murdock, stomping out the back door. Once the screen door banged shut again, Murdock drew in his breath as Maddie stifled a giggle.

Maddie reached across the table and touched his hands, which he wasn't prepared for. Nobody had ever touched him as much as Maddie did. She seemed to have no qualms about being in contact with him at all, and that completely threw him. He let her slip her long, slim fingers into his rough palms, and she smiled at him. "Listen, why don't we…have supper tonight? Alone…somewhere. I'll think of some place private, okay? There's a few things we really need to talk about."

"Right. There are." He was still staring down at their intertwined fingers. His head popped back up. "I…I could swear you were going to tell me something last night. You're…not a Democrat, you're not a pirate, and you're not…uh…no, no, I'll get it…you're not really a witch! Though you are very bewitching."

She smiled at him. "Right. But there's something else that I _am_ that we need to talk about, and something I might be soon, and both of those things will have an impact on…this thing that's happening between us." Her cheeks pinked and he rubbed his thumbs along her palms, loving the warmth and softness of her and only hoping to feel more of it for the rest of his otherwise cold and hard life. He swallowed, and finally looked up, meeting her gaze.

"So I take it these two things are pretty major?"

"Extremely. Or…well…that depends on how you react, I guess. It could be that I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Meet me at the hotel tonight, at say…seven?"

"What should I wear?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Your cargo pants and a T-shirt, and maybe bring a jacket, too, since it'll probably be kinda chilly and breezy, too." She squeezed his hands, and stood up. He stood too, and went around to open the door for her. She stopped him, put her hands on his chest and stood on her toes. He took the bait eagerly and kissed her, not giving a damn that B.A. had opened the door and was standing there smelling like Scotts Miracle-Gro weed killer. Murdock lifted her off her feet and let himself get lost in her, until B.A. finally cleared his throat and started making slightly pained noises.

"Sergeant Baracus," Maddie said, after having been set back on her feet by a very reluctant Murdock. "All the weeds dead?"

"As hammers," B.A. finally answered, his eyes still wide and staring at Murdock in disbelief.

"Good." She stepped out onto the porch, where Hannibal and Face – who was sitting on an Adirondack chair and still pinching his nose – were bickering about the Lieutenant's less-than-stellar spying skills. "You can blink now." She saluted the soldiers and started back toward the hotel, leaving astonishment and a broken nose in her wake.


	16. The Curse of the Rutabaga

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Chapter 16

The truth is out! Augh!

* * *

Maddie was washing dishes, but kept glancing back at her mother, who was seated at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes and mumbling under her breath. She wondered when Anne would start talking – apparently, Georgia had filled her in on having found James in Maddie's bed that morning. Her mother had never interfered in her personal life, once she had turned eighteen, and had always been fairly calm in even the worst situations, but this seemed to be rather different. She hadn't even intervened when it had come to Ellis, who frankly had deserved quite a lot of intervening and possibly machine gun fire.

Anne swallowed, put the potato peeler down, took a deep breath and started to launch into a cautionary speech, but Maddie cut her off at the pass.

"Nothing happened."

"Well, I'm reliev-…what? So he did-…"

"Yes, he slept in my bed, and so did I. At the same time, I mean. But he was also drunk and…" Maddie shrugged and finished drying the last dish before putting it away. "I'm also thirty-two years old and live in my own home and can make my own decisions."

"I know, I know," Anne said, putting her head in her hands. "It's just not something a mother wants to think about, when it comes to her daughter…or really, any of her kids, and all six of your brothers are married. I can't even think about those kinds of things, you know? I mean, it's…I can't explain it. So I'm human, okay? Wait 'til you have a daughter and then you'll understand."

"What, you don't like him?"

Anne shook her head. "It's not that at all. He does seem like a pretty decent man. But he's also wanted by the military police and by the CIA, from what you told me, and…things can get kind of complicated if you're involved with…"

"It's all right, Mama. Just…stop worrying."

"Have you heard anything, by the way?" Anne looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her daughter's expression.

"No." Maddie closed the cabinet door and leaned back against the counter. "And right now, I'm really hoping I don't. At this point, I'm just enjoying…life." She shrugged and smiled at her mother, who smiled back.

"That's all I hope for, for all of my babies," Anne said. "That life is good for you all. I hope you don't think I'm being too…motherish in just being worried. I worry about you all. I worried when your oldest brother sent me that cheese and cracker set of the Nativity for Christmas. I'm sorry, but I just can't spread Jesus on a Belgian cracker. I just can't." She shuddered. "Though the cheese was better than those chocolate-covered truffles Davis sent me. That was like trying to eat a sock."

Maddie giggled. "He was in his 'let's see how weird I can be' phase at the time, as I recall, and truffles have yet to make much inroads into central Texas." Maddie nodded. She sat down opposite her mother, grabbed a few potatoes, and began peeling them. "And you're not being too motherish. You're just being…a mother. As for what happens, or what doesn't happen between me and James, I will keep you informed. I promise."

"Good. Have you heard from your brothers, by the way?"

"Nope. Nary a peep. I'm sure they're staying up north to keep away from the carnival and any threat of having to wear a Confederate uniform and do a meringue around the ballroom again."

"I haven't heard from them either. I've still got freezer full of the fish they caught before they all left." Anne shook her head. "Maybe we'll have a fish fry after the festival is over. Invite all those men over here and give me a chance to properly vet your boyfriend."

Maddie flushed. "Do you…I mean, do you really think he looks at me that way? Like a fat man looks at fried food?"

Anne smiled. "I looked at your father the same way, sweetie."

Maddie covered her cheeks with her hands, but Anne saw her turning pink just the same. She shook her head and went back to peeling potatoes.

* * *

Murdock hated sitting around with nothing to do. Long ago, he had seen a cartoon of a stick figure applying an axe to a clock, with the caption 'Killing Time', and right now as he kept looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing that he was still three hours away from his date with Maddie, he felt a great kinship with that little stick man. He was tired of watching television. He was tired of futzing around in the cellar with Face and Hannibal as they removed jars of mysterious canned goods from the shelves, and he was really, really tired of Hannibal griping about having nothing to do.

As far as Murdock knew, there were no downtrodden citizens of Morgansville, unless one counted Mr Gilmore, whose wife was more than a little bossy and had a voice that reminded everybody of an angry Pomeranian. Otherwise, Hannibal had no scope for his imagination. He liked to plan some kind of derring-do, and in Morgansville, the only kind of adventure one might find was swinging out into the lake on a rope suspended from a 300-year old oak tree behind the hotel. Murdock hadn't done that yet, but at this point, he was contemplating taking that risk. Beyond that, one could toilet paper houses, or set off cherry bombs in garbage cans and run for your life from local law enforcement…but Murdock wasn't twelve any more. Or, actually, he wasn't a year or two younger – he had last pulled that stunt at Bagdad, and the result had been the capture of nineteen terrified little warts who had thought their compound was being strafe bombed. That had been a good day, actually…

B.A. sat down beside Murdock, opened one of the cans of mystery preserves, winced, and put the lid back on. "Rutabagas," he whispered darkly.

"Really?" Murdock leaned in and examined the jar. "Labels woulda been nice, huh? I wonder how old they are."

"Look!" B.A. showed him the label, which had been applied to the bottom of the jar. "Oh my God…nineteen-oh-nine! They've been down there since nineteen-oh-nine. It's like a sci-fi movie!"

"'The Curse of the Rutabagas'!" Murdock gasped, and they both started laughing. "_The blood of the baby rutabaga is on your hands_!" B.A. erupted into helpless laughter and put the jar down. "What else did y'all find down there?"

"God only knows what else. I think Hannibal is goin' crazy. He's decided to whitewash the cellar, like they did back in the olden days."

"Well, he can't have my job in the Department of Crazy and Nuts, thank you," Murdock muttered. He picked up another jar, peered at the bottom, and read aloud. "'Beets…nineteen-oh-six'. Oh dear God in heaven save us all. Who'd can beets? I can't bear the sight of 'em. Remember when we ate at that buffet somewhere in Arizona, and I thought those beets was cranberry sauce? I had to get my stomach pumped."

"You were just being dramatic," B.A. huffed.

"Oh, like you've never been dramatic. Nearly fall out of a helicopter, and ever since then, you've been all 'I ain't flyin' with you, crazy fool'. Talk about _dramatic_."

Hannibal came out of the cellar then, carrying three more jars. "Pickled pigs' feet," he whispered, an expression of pure horror on his face. This from a man who had seen plenty of horror in his life, from war, to poverty, to the films of Matt Damon. He handed the jar to Murdock, who squeaked in terror and almost dropped it.

"Somewhere out there is a footless pig, plotting revenge!" Murdock said. Face came out the kitchen door then, eyes wide, a bandage across his broken nose.

"There's a rat in there the size of an aircraft carrier!"

All three of the other men were on their feet immediately, prepared to run in the opposite direction, when they all realized they were trained, professional Army Rangers and capable of handling a _rat_. After taking several deep breaths, they all went into the house again, Face holding up the rear. Hannibal, eager for some real excitement and danger, took the lead.

"Where'd you see it?"

"Toward the basement door," Face said, pointing a shaky finger in that direction.

"Where did it go?" Hannibal queried eagerly.

"Before or after it _hissed_ at me?" Face asked him.

"After."

"I know it's still here in the kitchen, and…aieeeee!" Face turned and bumped into Murdock, who managed to see around the panicking lieutenant enough to get a good look at the aircraft-carrier-sized rat, which was in fact a possum that looked more frightened than angry.

"That's not a rat. That's a possum."

Face, who was trying to recover his dignity, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Oh. Well. It's…very…large. A large possum…"

"Hey, little guy," Murdock said, moving toward the possum. The animal gave him a petulant glare and backed toward the basement door. "Wanna go back outside?"

"Why don't you also ask him who to pick in the fifth at Belmont, too?" Face hissed. "He doesn't understand a word you're saying!"

"Shaddup already," Murdock snapped, and headed over to the broom. "Fifth time he's been in here since I moved in. C'mon. Out ya go." He shook the broom at the possum, which ducked its head and looked disgruntled, but nonetheless started edging toward the door, keeping to a path along the wall. The four men moved away from it as Murdock guided him to the door. The possum waddled out the door, down the steps and headed toward the tree line along the lakeside.

"What other creatures can we expect to find in here?" Hannibal asked Murdock, giving him a narrow look.

"Er…well…there are actually a few real rats…"

"Rats!" Face shook his head, running his hand through his hair.

"But they're only size of your standard battleship, Face, so no worries." Murdock grinned at his best friend, who didn't look any happier. "And part of my job – or _our_ job, now – is to get rid of 'em."

"I am not an exterminator!" Face growled. "I am a requisitions officer, dammit!"

"Now, you chase rats, so requisition yourself some balls," Hannibal ordered, though in a friendly manner. "And this is all for free room and board and being aided and abetted by Maddie's own mother." B.A. had taken a seat at the card table and was rubbing his temples but otherwise keeping his own counsel. Hannibal sat down opposite him. "I think I've been traumatized enough today, if it's all the same to you," he said. "In fact, as a much-needed break, we're all gonna go to town tonight. Go to the carnival, lose money in the fairway, and eat dinner. I'm actually in the mood to see what cow won the grand prize tonight in the livestock show."

"I have to be somewhere else," Murdock said, carefully avoiding Face's gaze. But the lieutenant immediately forgot about rodents and zeroed in on the increasingly jittery captain.

"Oh? Where?"

"Just…somewhere else, okay?" Murdock answered testily.

"With Captain Morgan?" Face grinned. "Really? Whatcha gonna do? I mean, together?"

"I dunno…she's the one who set the time and place, and…" Murdock shrugged and sat down at the table. Face straddled a chair and studied his friend.

"So you don't know what might happen tonight?" Face frowned thoughtfully. "Well…then, I think you should take some protection."

Murdock stared at him, bewildered. "Like what, a gun?"

"I don't think he means a gun, Murdock," Hannibal said, his cheeks turning strangely pink.

Face sighed and cracked his knuckles. B.A., almost convulsed with giggles, put his head down, covering his face with his hand.

"Oh…oh…that…that kind of protection…" Murdock felt his face getting hot. "Right. Uh…hell, I haven't been on a _date_ in years. Has anything changed?"

"Some of the fashions have changed, but the general goal remains the same," Hannibal nodded, which made B.A. let a giggle loose before regaining some semblance of control.

"Do you have any…you know…?" Face asked Murdock.

"I remember the first time I bought a condom," Hannibal said. "Turned out the girl's father was the pharmacist I bought it from." He shuddered. "That was a fun evening. It's a wonder I wasn't shot. Frankly, Murdock, a gun might be helpful after all." He turned head away, doing his best to cover his laughter, but his shoulders were shaking with mirth.

"Her father's dead, so that's a definite plus," Murdock said, then gulped and looked appalled at himself.

"Her father told me that if I tried anything, he wouldn't mind going back to prison," Hannibal continued, undeterred by Murdock's disgusted expression. Face snorted with laughter, and B.A. giggled, barely able to stand it any longer.

"Okay, okay…everybody calm down," Face said, pulling himself together. "Listen, Murdock, in this day and age, you have to be responsible, and…and…uh…"

"Yes, I know, and I promise she and I won't drink from the same glass," Murdock hissed at Face.

That set Hannibal off again, and he turned to put his elbows on his knees. Face sighed, shaking his head. "Listen, Murdock, I've got some…er…"

"Rubbers. Goalies. French letters…" Murdock growled, becoming irritated. B.A. was now giggling uncontrollably and Hannibal was incoherent, wheezing in his unsuccessful attempt to control his laughter.

"Okay, ignore Sergeant McGiggly and Colonel Wheezy over here. Listen to _me_. If the moment should…uh…er…manifest itself, it's best to be properly prepared."

"I know that, you idiot!" Murdock crossed his arms and sat back. "You have any?"

"Yes, I do. Of course I do. I'm like the Boy Scouts…always prepared!" He stood up and started toward the door.

"I don't think that's what the Boy Scouts mean with that motto, but yeah, whatever." Murdock seriously doubted the moment would 'manifest itself' tonight or any time soon, but…well, being prepared was a good idea just the same. He drummed his fingers on the table and watched B.A. get up and go to the 'fridge. The sergeant snatched out a bottle of water and took a swig before heading back out to the patio, and Hannibal finally regained his self-control.

"While Mattressback is gone, let me give you some useful advice," Hannibal said.

"Oh, God," Murdock said, despairing. "Why did I even say anything?"

"Listen, it's easy. Just treat her with respect, all right? It's really that simple." He shrugged and sat back in his chair, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Of course, if you have lots of money, a job and a car, those are considered great pluses to most women. My mother frequently told my sister – 'No job, no car, run fast and run far', and frankly, she was right."

"When was the last time you…er…_respected_ a woman, so to speak?" Murdock asked, suddenly curious.

"That is none of your business, and I refuse to name names, in order to protect the satisfied." He smirked and extracted a cigar from his pocket. Murdock shook his head before he lit up, and Hannibal rolled his eyes before getting up and heading back outside.

Face came bustling back into the kitchen, grinning happily. He handed a package of condoms to Murdock, who recoiled at first before finally holding it away from himself, as if expecting it to grow teeth and attack him. "Extra large…in black?"

"Well, I could give you the glow-in-the-dark…"

"Never mind, never mind!" Murdock shuddered and stood up. "I have to go. Y'all behave yourself and at least refrain from burning the town to the ground."

"Hey, we will behave ourselves perfectly, I can assure you," Face told him loftily, looking offended.

* * *

Murdock showered, shaved and wrestled his hair into something resembling control, and put on the only suit he owned – which, unfortunately, had sleeves that were a bit too long, so that he looked like a hobo going out on the town. He tried to grow his arms a few inches, but that clearly wasn't going to happen, so he gave up and tried to sneak downstairs instead, carefully avoiding creaky boards. Face, Hannibal and B.A. were arguing in the kitchen (punctuated by banging pots and pans, like typical noises heard in a Russian kitchen) and he opted for an escape through the front door. He was halfway across the field when he realized he had forgotten the package Face had given him earlier that afternoon.

He paused at the cold springs, looking back at Swale House. He could still hear the pots being banged, probably by Hannibal, and looked at the hotel rising up from the green, wicker-bedecked lawn. A quick sprint back to the mansion wouldn't take but a few minutes, but when he glimpsed down at his watch, he saw that he was almost late, and no doubt Face would try to give him more advise that could prove traumatic. So he made a firm decision to only try for first base and galloped the rest of the way to the hotel's back porch.

Maddie was nowhere to be seen on the porch. Only two elderly couples occupied the chairs, and they were playing chess. Murdock contemplated a knight and advised on where it should go, then went inside, banging the door behind him. He passed the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Georgia removing a tray of cookies from the oven, before heading toward the courtyard and the lakeside wing of the hotel, where Maddie was likely to be. He clattered across the stones, heard music from the ballroom, and continued on, driven on by lust and pure energy.

She was giving a tango lesson to an elderly gentleman who kept putting his hand on her behind. Maddie reached back, removed the errant hand and moved it to the middle of her back. The old man took her rebuff philosophically and after a few more steps, the dance ended.

"Thank you Mr Alderson. Say hello to Mrs Alderson for me, hm?" Maddie said. The old man snickered and shuffled away, clearly energized by the session. He saw Murdock and frowned at him, and Maddie turned to see him and smiled. She was wearing a knock-your-socks off yellow dress with tiny pink flowers, had her hair up in a casual twist, and she was barefoot.

"Hi. Let me get my shoes and a coat," she said, waving him into the ballroom. "You're right on time."

"Army training," he nodded.

"Would you like to tango?" she asked him, after putting on her shoes and pulling a cardigan on.

"I believe you misunderstood…I asked for a _mango_."

Maddie giggled. "Been busy all day?"

He let her straighten his collar and smooth his lapels, grateful to even be _touched_ by a beautiful woman, much less be allowed to escort her anywhere. "We removed several frightening Mason jars from the cellar," he informed her.

"Oh…oh, yes. Great-grandma Morgan's preserves," she said, shuddering a little. "She also specialized in home-made wines. Or, as my grandfather once drunkenly referred to one particular vintage, 'gome-made wooseberry hine'. Are you ready to go?"

"I think so. This suit doesn't fit," he said. "And now I remember you said to wear jeans…"

"It's okay. We're gonna eat supper in town and then I thought we'd just go for a drive. Down to Cow Creek."

"Oh. Right. Sounds good. But don't they shoot at you if you pull over for more than a coupla minutes?" He followed her out of the ballroom, taking note of her heels and legs and thus banging into a wall.

"One of my aunts owns some property out there," she explained, closing the ballroom door and locking it. "There's a great view of the river…of course, it'll be dark when we get down there, but it's still beautiful…" She turned back to look at him, as he rubbed his nose, still seeing stars from his run-in with the wall. She bit back a smile at his obvious nervousness. "How long has it been since you've been on a date?"

"Oh, God, six years, I think. Maybe longer. Startin' to get on my nerves, actually."

"Six years? Wow."

"How long's it been for you?" he asked, trailing her down the hall and to the courtyard, this time managing to pay enough attention to his path to avoid hitting anything.

"Um…a while."

* * *

Supper was at The Oxford, and Murdock was so nervous he couldn't eat his catfish, which seemed to amuse Maddie a great deal. She ordered key lime cheesecake for dessert, which impressed him. "It takes a confident woman to eat a cheesecake," he told her. "Means she doesn't give a damn what anybody thinks about her."

"Very true." She took a bite of the decadent pie and sighed, closing her eyes. "I don't give a flying Wallenda what anybody thinks…well…I do care what some people think, I guess. Mmmm…oh, that's good. Want some?" She cut a piece and held the fork out toward him. He took the bite and blinked at the sugar rush. "Want to order one for yourself?"

"No, I'd rather just watch you eat yours."

"Really?" She looked even more amused.

"I have very strange proclivities, believe me."

"Oh? What kind of…uh…proclivities are we talking about?"

"What, you haven't heard? Clearly, you don't get out much!"

She started laughing. "So they're that strange?" She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. "What are your…uh…preferences, Captain?"

"Brunettes," he nodded. "With blue eyes and good legs. I'm a leg man. And I like a woman with a sense of humor – it seemed, while I was in college, that many of the co-eds lacked a sense of humor, but then again, many of them were taking Women's Studies courses, so humor was not permitted. And she has to be able to fly a chopper when called upon, and she has to have a very definite Hill Country _burr_…"

"Oh, I hear that Hill Country burr is very sexy," she nodded gravely. "I know this from recent personal experience."

"Yep. And she has to know how to bowl, and fix a car, and dress a deer."

"In what?"

He stifled his laughter when the waitress appeared to ask if they wanted coffee. They both refused the offer. "And she definitely has to be a teetotaler, and should know how to defend herself well. Oh, and she has to have been at _least_ a Senate Minority Whip."

"Oh, dear…that disqualifies me!" she said, snapping her fingers. The waitress reappeared with the check.

"What about you? What are your…preferences?"

"Hm…he has to be kinda tall…" She smiled at him when he got up and helped her out of her chair. "With hair he can't seem to keep under control. And he has to be a total lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so that I can take advantage of him."

"Right. Exactly." He paused, looking at the stick-on tattoo machine, before he realized what she had just said. "Hey…wait a minute…"

"And he has to be well-educated, but also intelligent, which as we all know are two entirely different things."

"Yes. Those girls at Yale were living proof that one can be educated far beyond one's intelligence." He dodged Maddie's attempt at paying her part of the bill and they left the restaurant. She sighed, shaking her head.

"I can pay for my own meal, James."

"Not when you're out with me."

He saw that her face had paled a little, and was about to ask what was wrong, when he turned to see a group of elderly people coming up the street, most of them wearing mismatching shoes. The women in particular were also wearing _white _shoes after Labor Day, which in the South was an affront to nature and to God. "Ledbetters," Maddie whispered. Several other tourists, intermingled with locals, were milling about on the street, oblivious to the increasingly cold weather, enjoying the fall decorations and the scent of cedar burning. The Ledbetters hove in on Maddie and Murdock, and Eudie – her eyebrows drawn on so that she looked like she'd just seen a rat – studied them owlishly.

"Oh! Miss Maddie, and Mr Murdock. How is your grandmother, Mr Murdock?"

"She remains dead, as yet," Murdock nodded gravely. "But I'll be sure to inquire regarding her general health next time I hear from her."

"Good, good. Always so nice to keep in touch with your relatives. Families nowadays…always movin' away from each other. Why, I've got a daughter in New Orleans and another in Tucson!"

"Yes, and I'm sure both of them hope you can't remember their addresses, and that you're not allowed to drive!" Murdock said, bowing over her extended hand. Eudie giggled like a schoolgirl before being grabbed and dragged along by her siblings.

Maddie was almost doubled over with laughter. She cuffed Murdock on the arm and opened her car door. "I can't believe you said that."

"Well…sometimes, the bitter cynic in me comes out, but in a very charming way." He popped into the passenger seat beside her and buckled himself in. "It's the Scarlett O'Hara Tactic, doncha know," he told her loftily. "The ability to insult someone without them even realizing it."

From his past experiences of riding anywhere with Maddie, the threat of death seemed extremely high – she was kind of a wild driver – even more than Face or B.A., and they thought a mere trip to the grocery store was some kind of off-road cross-country rally. Considering she also drove a souped-up Mustang convertible, he was prepared for sheer terror on the road. She backed quickly out of her spot and headed southwards, toward the Burnet County line and Cow Creek.

* * *

"Huh…fried pies," Murdock said, extracting a Mrs. Baird's lemon pie from the bag. He opened his bottle of Dr Pepper and took a swig. "Great stuff."

"Mama makes the best fried pies to be had," Maddie informed him. "But she hasn't made any this week – way too busy with the fair and festival."

"How'd you get away from all that, by the way?"

"Oh…well, I do have compromising photos of various people in charge, and in exchange for my silence, I was released back into the wild. But only for tonight."

"Compromising photos? Like what, the mayor in a hotel room with a Shetland pony?" He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the stars. They were lying on the hood of her Mustang, doing a bit of stargazing. Down below the cliff's edge, where they were parked, they could hear Cow Creek flowing, and a chorus of crickets giving them their best performance in at least a few hours. Somewhere upriver, they heard a cow lowing.

"Well…not the mayor," Maddie said, a smile in her voice. "It's getting cold."

He pulled off his jacket and gave it to her, ignoring her protests, then lay back again, looking up at the Milky Way. "The stars really are bright, deep in the heart of Texas."

"Yes, they are. I've always loved coming here. The creek is usually too low for swimming, but for stargazing, nothing beats Cow Creek." She lay down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Well…Oatmeal is pretty good for it, too," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes. Of course." She sighed and a comfortable silence fell between them as they watched the stars blink and glitter in the black sky. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and screwed up all her courage. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Okay." He sounded rather sleepy, and she glanced at him, but couldn't see him very well in the darkness.

"Well…actually, two things. Two things that, like I said, could have a pretty big impact on…um…us."

"Well, then tell me," he said, yawning.

"Okay. Well. Hm…first of all, I have been offered a job with the government."

"Really? In Austin?"

"D.C."

The silence that fell between them was far less comfortable now, and she could actually feel him looking at her. "D.C.?"

"Yes." She sat up and pulled his coat tighter around herself. "They haven't called me yet, and I haven't really decided. It'd still be with the DLA, but I'd have a lot more power. A wider jurisdiction, so to speak. In particular, I'd be making sure the military police have the funds and equipment they…need…to…er…capture…"

"Folks like my friends," he finished for her.

"That's kind of why I'm not sure about it. I mean, they do have to capture real criminals, James. There are guys who do bad things while in the Army and need to be caught…"

"According to them, we _did_ do a bad thing. Only we didn't." He sat up and she was relieved that the moon was bright enough now that she could see him fairly well. He looked pensive, and was starting to wring his hands – a sure sign of nervousness. "And just like us, they don't always get fair trials."

"I know."

"And don't think for a minute that somehow, fate will prevent you from having to supply 'em to come get _me_ and Face and Hannibal and B.A., Maddie. Because they would. Fate's a right nasty bitch, let me tell you."

She nodded and leaned hopefully against him. She felt his arm slip slowly around her waist, pulling her closer. Maddie sighed against his neck and took a deep breath. "There's something else I need to tell you about. It's probably even more difficult to really…explain. Or not."

"It is and it isn't. Gee, this is like officer training!"

Maddie smiled. "Right. Okay. So…let me start by saying that when I told my ex-fiance about this, he said I was a freak, okay? That I was…weird."

"Clearly a jackass," Murdock said.

"He said that I needed to grow up about it."

"About what?"

"Uh…er…well…" She drew in her breath. "I've never…I mean, I haven't…"

"Robbed a bank? Good. Bad future in that business."

"No, no, that's not it. Will you just let me say it?"

"Okay. Say it. Just…you know…blurt it out. Like I did once, when I was flyin' some General to Bagdad: 'General, you have serious BO!' Sure, I got two weeks of KP, but the truth's the truth."

"Okay. Okay. So…um…I have never…actually…done it."

"Done what?" He took another swig of his Dr Pepper.

"It."

"It. It?" It took him a few ticks to finally hit the end zone, but when he did, Murdock's eyes widened and he stared at her. "_It_? You mean…you mean…uh…that?"

"Right."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well…let me think for a minute. I'm…uh…well…that's…well…"

"So you think I'm frigid, right?"

"Frigid?"

"Yes. Ellis said I was frigid when I wouldn't sleep with him. And I guess maybe I am…I never wanted to sleep with him. I mean, he was my boyfriend through high school and then we stayed in touch while I was away in New York and in Russia and then we got engaged and…the whole time, we'd make out and I felt like I was kissing a piece of meat. And I dated some other guys before and since then, and I never wanted to sleep with them, either. Ever." She was extremely glad it was so dark, because she was blushing bright red now – ever since she had met Murdock, she had been thinking about it a lot.

"Okay…and how does keeping your knees together and not getting VD or pregnant make you _frigid_?"

Maddie shrugged helplessly. "I just didn't feel like I was obligated, I guess."

"Well, hell…you weren't. You aren't. I mean, it's your life, your body, your decision. Some pompous twit like your fiancé has no business telling you otherwise. For God's sake…" He rubbed his face, bewildered. He had never had a discussion like this with anybody. In his entire life.

"Ex-fiance," she reminded him. "He could only be more 'ex' by being dead."

Murdock looked up at the stars for a moment, pondering this. She was this het up over being a _virgin_? Well, hell, he didn't need to worry about not having any protection, anyway – at least not tonight. He took a final swig of his Dr Pepper and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and wondered how Maddie expected him to react to this piece of news. "So…now what?"

"I don't know. I was expecting you to be sprinting up the road at this point," she said, shaking her head.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I dunno. I'm just glad you didn't start laughing or have a panic attack or something."

He shook his head. "Anybody that laughs at a person 'cause they don't put out is an ass, period, end of story."

"But you did…I mean, I take it you're not a virgin, James."

"No. I'm not." He sighed. "Yeah, double standard. And really, it's true – guys like virgins. We can't take criticism."

Maddie punched him on the arm, and he shrugged. "Listen, it's okay. I mean…yeah, it'd be great if you thought differently on the matter – I won't lie about that. But it's your decision, not mine."

"You really mean that?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Oh." She took a deep breath. "Okay, so can I be honest here?"

"Go right ahead."

"I would actually like for you to be…to be the one…who…uh…"

"Oh. Well…uh…good Lord, Maddie, you spring this on me…I thought it'd be something really _awful_, like you'd shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, or that you liked Woody Allen movies, or you have a collection of Barry Manilow records." He shrugged. "I dunno, Maddie. This is a new one for me. Gimme a break, though…I'm just a guy. All the wiring's in right, so far as that all goes…I'm not perfect. Hell, I'll never get anywhere near that…but you are not a freak, and you are not frigid. Not by a long shot, and this is only our first date…okay, okay…honest to God, I was just hoping to get to first base tonight!"

She burst into laughter, feeling so relieved she almost wanted to cry. "I've never been to Reno, I can't stand Woody Allen and I'm convinced 'Mandy' is the cause of much of the crime in this country today."

"Right, right. Well…so…what now?"

"I dunno. We look at the stars…or we could make out or something…if you were so inclined."

"If I were inclined, you would also be inclined?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"Well, then, incline yourself over here, baby."


	17. The Golden Boys

**SEASON OF THE WITCH**

Chapter 17

There's a tiny reference to _The Golden Girls_ in here. Cookies to those who catch it.

This is just a filler chapter. Moving things along. Expect a wait for the next installment, though. You know how the holidays are. Kinfolks everywhere and underfoot. Scads and oodles of cash spent. I'm just glad I don't drink…

* * *

Murdock slipped back into Swale House at the crack of dawn, carrying his shoes and hoping – but being just barely enough of a realist to know it wasn't possible – they wouldn't hear him. It wasn't as though _he_ was the one who generally came back home after a night of tomcattin', after all. Sure enough, the back door hinges creaked (he'd forgotten to put oil on them) and a floorboard at the bottom of the stairs made a sound more commonly heard in the men's room at Yankee Stadium, and he knew the jig was up. Sure enough, Face came bounding down the stairs, grinning like a sand shark and eager for a blow-by-blow account of the previous evening activities.

Or lack thereof.

The pilot sighed when he saw Face, who was clad in silk – _silk!- _pajamas and an expensive-looking bathrobe, plus fancy-shmancy slippers. Did the guy never just freaking _rough it_, Murdock wondered. Even back in Iraq - the con man somehow always managed to look immaculate. Face had once told him that to him, 'roughing it' only meant no mints on the pillows. For Murdock, it didn't matter – he could sleep anywhere, on any surface. Murdock made a low grunting sound and tried to dodge his friend, hoping to just get upstairs and go to sleep.

"Hey, big boy, how'd it go? I take it things went well, what with your not having come home until…wow, six o'clock! Didn't you know this was a school night?"

"Shaddup, alright?" Murdock answered testily.

"Oh…" Face's smile faded. "Oh, damn…you didn't score, huh? Sorry, dude. Better luck next ti-ooof!" Face wasn't prepared to suddenly be punched in the stomach and he staggered back against the wall, goggle-eyed for a moment before he sucked in air again and became suitably outraged. "Hey, what the hell was that for?" he shouted.

"Oh, sure, now wake everybody up! Whyncha just get a bullhorn, ya big dope?" Murdock fumed at Face.

There was a clattering noise upstairs and the door to Hannibal's room opened. He had picked the one closest to the front of the house, wanting a good view on the front drive and any coming attacks, causing Murdock to wonder which one of them was really paranoid. The colonel appeared at the top of stairs, wearing a football jersey so faded the college team's name was lost to antiquity, and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Murdock sighed and prepared himself for a bawling out.

"Boys," Hannibal said, coming down the stairs at a slow, weary pace. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of being awakened at such an ungodly hour?"

"Er…well…" Murdock said. "Face started yellin'…"

"You hit me!" Face bleated, offended.

"Oh, please, if I'da really hit you, you wouldn't be makin' no damn _sounds, _'cause you'd be unconscious! "

"Captain!" Hannibal snapped, annoyed. "Good God, sometimes, it's like having a pair of teenaged boys to cope with. Captain, you are either extremely late or very early. So what's the deal?"

"He didn't score last night, so he's takin' it out on me!" Face grouched. "Like it was my fault or somethin'!" He put on an aggrieved expression and pulled for points on Hannibal's Injustice Scale, but apparently that did not work, because the Colonel was studying Murdock with sleepy interest.

"So what happened?" he asked mildly.

"Nothing." Murdock gave up and started down the hallway to the kitchen. Always the kitchen. Did they have cheesecake? B.A. always sprung for the cheesecake, since Murdock had no patience for mixing one up and letting it cool (and harden) in the fridge. He opened the fridge and was delighted to see one sitting there, as yet untouched. Like the woman in his life, about whom they would soon be talking at length, he was sure. He opened the freezer door and grabbed a few pieces of ice, rubbing them against his forehead.

"Nothing? You mean nothing in the sense of 'I'm not interested' or nothing in the sense of…er…well…" Hannibal called toward the kitchen door, and rubbed his jaw, appalled at himself for even asking such a question. Of all his boys, he did his best to not interfere too much in Murdock's personal life, mainly because it had potentially explosive results.

"Oh, come on, Colonel, Maddie's not that kind of girl," Face said, grinning. They paused in the dining room, each noting a plate sitting on the dining table. A jar of mustang jelly was next to it, along with a tub of butter, and several crumbs. They looked at each other, eliminating themselves as the midnight snacker, and looked up, each indicating B.A., who was still up there asleep.

Murdock appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a pie server in one hand and rubbing ice on his temples with the other. He looked rather murderous and gave both men a hard glare before going back to the cabinets to search for plates. They heard cheap china clattering and grumbling in there, like a swarm of ticked-off bees inside a tin can. Murdock did that a lot when he was angry – he had a strange kind of growling hum that indicated it was best to just get away and leave him be.

"Then why'dja give him the damn condoms?" Hannibal asked Face.

"Well, who knows? There's other stuff…I mean, full-blown…er…you know…I mean, you don't have to have…er…I mean, there's…other forms of…entertainment…" Face gestured helplessly. "And it was their first date, so maybe I was overshooting a bit, but…safety first, right?"

They went into the kitchen, where Murdock was already pulling the cheesecake (key lime, his favorite) out of the 'fridge and was slicing it. Face and Hannibal sat at the table and Murdock finally joined them, grumbling under his breath, still sounding beelike. "Well, Blanche, Rose," Murdock said, putting the cake on the table where the goats could get it. "How was _your_ evening?"

"I won a pink elephant at darts," Hannibal boasted happily. "And a lovely Guernsey heifer named Petal won the Grand Prize, just as I predicted."

Face grinned. "I danced with three princesses of the court, including the girl I suspect will win the beauty contest…"

"Scholarship fund," Murdock corrected him.

"…Friday night." Face ignored him. "And how _did_ things go with you and Maddie? If you didn't do the horizontal tango, what did you do?"

"We talked about…stuff." Murdock took a bite of his cheesecake and sighed. He got up and started the coffee, knowing the smell would soon attract large aerophobic Army Rangers and so he made plenty and dug around for the French Vanilla creamer, B.A.'s favorite.

"What sort of stuff?" Face persisted. Hannibal shrugged and tucked into his cheesecake.

"Well…" Murdock sat down again. "She told me she might being going to D.C. to work for the DOD."

"Oh…that's bad…" Face said, paling a little. The DOD already interfered plenty with his relationship with Charissa, aside from any of their encounters might also lead to his arrest and imprisonment. Being tied up occasionally was one thing, if she was the one doing it, but being handcuffed and berated by large men wearing badges was another entirely.

"And she seemed to indicate that I'm sort of her…type."

"That's good!" Face said, grinning encouragingly at his friend and clapping his hands.

"And she told me about her scuzzbag ex-fiance who told her she was frigid."

"Frigid?" Hannibal looked up from his cheesecake, bewildered. "That woman is _not_ frigid."

"Quite," Murdock nodded. "And she told me she…you know…likes me…"

Face nodded, pleased. "Good again. And then…?"

"And then she told me that she's a virgin."

Silence. Hannibal's fork froze halfway to his mouth. Face gaped at him before he looked across the table at their CO, their expressions registering complete bewilderment, then confusion and surprise, followed by embarrassment, which caused them both to look away at everything in the room but each other and Murdock. Hannibal, later attributing the question to being awakened from a sound sleep and a dream about a particularly lovely young woman he had known – in more than just a purely academic sense, too - back in Boston, couldn't stop himself. "Are you sure?" He winced and ignored Face putting his head down to cover his giggles.

Murdock stared at his CO for a beat, pressed his fingers to his forehead, and exhaled, aggravated. "Now what the hell kinda idiot question is that? What, was I gonna ask her to prove it?"

Another silence. B.A. staggered in just then, groping his way toward the coffeepot and muttering something about noise and where was the damned cheesecake. Murdock got up, lured B.A. toward the pot by waving the coffee creamer under his nose, and poured him a cup. "Wakey-wakey, Bosco! Sorry, no baccie…"

"Mfmfgha…" B.A. grunted, taking his cup and staggering out to the back porch, after Murdock handed him a plate of cheesecake.

"Well…" Face said, drawing an invisible circle on the table with his finger. "So…er…hey, that's…great…"

"Yes, it is," Hannibal said seriously. "Hell, if we can tell kids to say no to drugs, why can't we tell kids to keep their flies zipped 'til at least after they've graduated? I mean, the statistics alone bear that out…" He shrugged, knowing he held the slightly less 'modern' view on the matter and went back to his cheesecake.

Face cleared his throat. "Well, yes, that's very true. Er…abstinence…something I couldn't do myself, mind you…"

"No, you couldn't. You think sex is a friggin' requirement!" Murdock snapped, annoyed and still irritated with Hannibal.

"I do not!" Face grouched back. "And I happen to be very…discriminating!"

"Oh, right, like your discrimination regarding married women, for instance," Murdock reminded him. "And that woman with the wart. The wart you didn't notice because you were _drunk_."

"As I was _saying_," Face continued testily. "Abstinence is a good thing, in and of itself. I mean…I mean…uh…"

"Face, if you quote _anything_ from _The Forty-Year Old Virgin_, I swear to God, I will kill you right here and now."

Duly warned, and throwing away any such references, Face nodded again. "I mean, it's a good thing. It's very admirable." He tried to not look terribly pious. Murdock's eyes narrowed, and that meant he was still in trouble with the pilot. Face gave Murdock an ingratiating smile and took a sip of his coffee.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Hannibal pointed out firmly. "Hell, if I had a daughter, I'd almost be shouting it from the rooftops that she's still a virgin while not married. Call me a prude or a Puritan or an old fogey or whatever, but wait 'til you have a daughter, Face. Then the concept of virginity becomes extremely important to you and you sit around cleaning rifles when the boys come calling."

"Clicking the safety on and off, too," Murdock nodded, imitating the sound passably. "Yeah, that'd be Face – fastest zipper in the west, felled by a baby girl."

"Shaddup," Face grumbled, knowing the pilot was right. "Okay, sure. And…and…all those girls I've…you know…"

"They were somebody's daughter," Murdock muttered.

Hannibal snickered. "Sometimes they were even somebody's wife."

"Hey, hey, hey, that's not fair! That only happened…er…twice. And neither time did either of them inform me of that particular fact until after the…er…fact."

"Or _act_," Murdock snapped. He stood and went to the coffee pot to refill his cup. He was so rattled and jittery he knew he'd never go to sleep now. He leaned against the counter and shook his head. "But seriously…what the hell am I supposed to do now? I told her it was okay…"

"Well, is it? I mean, you're okay with a…well, it's not exactly platonic, is it?" Hannibal asked, leaning back. "You're okay with a relationship like this?"

Murdock thought about Maddie. About how good she felt in his arms, and the way she seemed to just brighten up everything in his life. The past few months had, quite frankly, been the best of his entire damned life. With her, he was at peace. No mania, no paranoia, no desire to carry on a conversation with a tree. Nothing of the sort. His only negative side-effect was just basically being horny…

But Maddie had said something last night that suddenly hit him. '_I would like for you to be the first_'. "She…she did say something…uh…last night about how…she…er…would be…uh…_amenable_ to the idea of…of…_me_…being the…uh…first…the first…uh…"

"The first what?" Face asked, sipping his coffee.

"The first man on Mars," Murdock said, pulling a deadpan expression.

Face looked affronted for a moment, then his eyes widened and he fought off a wicked grin. "Oh…oh, _that_ first. Oh…well…the first to plant a flag on…Mount Madelia, eh?" Hannibal kicked Face in the shin, and the lieutenant tried to look properly contrite, so to at least avoid having scalding coffee dumped all over him. It took him a moment to regain his composure, and when he did, he decided to be serious for now. "Or maybe the only guy to…ah…stake a claim?"

"She's not a friggin' goldmine, Face," Murdock muttered.

"Well, not in the literal sense, but in the sense of what she's got to offer…yeah, baby. Hey, hey, calm down…not just that, okay? She's a looker, damn right, but she's also smart and tough and she already knows all about your problems and doesn't seem to mind them. Best of all…and I'm being really serious here, James…she's really just…_nice_. She's kind – a rare quality in people these days, might I add. And I'm guessing she actually wants a commitment? A real…you know…'always and forever, amen' type of thing, right?"

Murdock flinched under the gazes of his CO and his best friend. A _commitment_? Last time he'd been committed, it had been to a mental institution, but that seemed like eons ago now. This was entirely different, but equally life-changing.

"Listen," he finally said, swallowing the last of his coffee. "I'm just tryin' to…to…figure this all out, okay? We have a lotta work to do today. She even told me to think about it, and she's busy all day, too, so…so…let's finish breakfast, get dressed and head outside. We have an old septic tank to dig up and dispose of!"

"Really? _Could_ we?" Face squealed, clapping his hands with sarcastic glee.


	18. Things Not To Do With An Edsel

This kind of thing has happened. Though I'm not sure if it happened to an Edsel.

Plot continuum thing here. The muses said 'Slow it down' so I slowed it down and ended up with a short chapter written Sunday night when I suddenly had a bit of time.

Yes, it does get hot in central Texas in October. Why do you ask?

* * *

"It's that damned Southern pride, I guess," Murdock said, leaning against his shovel and wiping his sweating forehead. "It always did get me into trouble, y'know. It's that same damned Southern pride that kept me from becoming a dancer."

Face, shirtless and sweating buckets, glared at his friend and dug his shovel into the dirt again. "Listen, I don't need any more shocks, Murdock. I already had enough of a shock five minutes ago, okay?" He sniffed, then blew out his nose again and coughed loudly, hoping to clear the scent out. He had accidentally hit a pipe while working his way down to what they all now knew was the non-functioning septic tank, and six generations of Morgan family 'contributions' had bubbled up to the surface, causing four heretofore fearless Army Rangers to run hell bent for the trees.

Murdock had discovered the problem with the tank two days before, when he'd started repairing shutters on the window of one of the lower-level rooms. He had put a ladder under the window and started climbing up, but was startled to realize he had got up four steps and was still only a foot off the ground. A sinkhole was forming under the window, and it hadn't taken long to surmise that the septic tank was backing up. The sinkhole was another issue – a sunken rose garden might be nice, he decided, but the tank was another, far more pressing issue. This wasn't _Little House on the Prairie_, and as historic as Swale House was, it still required indoor plumbing. When he had informed Face, B.A. and Hannibal of the upcoming project, they had all reacted with varying degrees of horror – Hannibal with a wince and a weary rubbing of already sore muscles in his shoulders; B.A. with a groan and mutterings about insanity and hernias, and Face with an expression not unlike that of a dog on its way to having its gonads removed by via weed whacker. Now, they were hot, tired, and realizing that they weren't in as good a shape as they thought, in spite of regular fitness training. Hand-to-hand combat, special ops and obstacle corners were nothing compared to digging up septic tanks.

"Oh, hey, I think I've hit the tank!" B.A. yelled, sounding inordinately triumphant, considering the circumstances. He had indeed managed to get down deepest so far, and his shovel clanked against metal. Black metal. He peered down and dug dirt away, as much as he could, and noted a pipe sautered into the metal. "Yep, this is it!"

In spite of the lingering stench, and in spite of the disconcerting heat of a mid-October afternoon in Texas, the men started digging harder. Even Face, determined to be through with this dreadful project, began digging with renewed vigor. They dug in silence, gritting their teeth, their faces covered with handkerchiefs, so that they all looked like grumpy and very, very dirty trainrobbers. Murdock's occasional attempts at conversation had always come to grief on bad odors and the heat, and now even he knew to just keep his mouth shut and dig.

"I hear somebody speakin' Chinese!" he yelled, digging harder. He was at the edge of the tank now, and was scraping along the line, finding the smooth, curving line of a…surely not. But it was. "I will be sheep-dipped! It's a car!"

The other three men stopping digging and stared, bewildered, at Murdock, who was now digging frantically along the edge of the 'tank'. Sure enough, after few minutes of sweating and babbling in Swedish, he came to the passenger-side doorhandle.

"Good Lord," Hannibal said, scraping his shovel along the roof of the car. "Talk about having a low opinion of the family automobile."

"Glass is broke out all over, of course…I reckon they musta done that 'fore they buried it…" Murdock pushed his shovel deep into what he surmised was the window. The result was an explosion of gasses and odors that would have felled a lesser man. It only made him howl in horror and scramble up out of the hole and take a dive into a pile of leaves. B.A. and Face were both laughing so hard they nearly fell over. Hannibal leaned against his shovel, wiped his sweating face on his sleeve and struggled to at least look concerned, but that was impossible and he surrendered to laughter.

"You okay there, Captain?" Face finally managed between snorts.

"Passenger…side…filled…filled to capacity, sir," Murdock gasped. "And this earth-bound Sky Captain has been rendered…unconscious." He rolled over and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Or what would have been the blue sky, had it not been for Maddie looking down at him, wide-eyed and twice as pretty as any sky he'd ever seen. She was smiling down at him, clearly pleased to see him, but then she _sniffed_.

"What on ear-…oh, my God…what is that?" she gasped, horrified at the sight – and smell – before her.

"Septic tank. Looks like it might be…it is!" Hannibal yelled, having jumped back down to take on the rear of the car. "It's an Edsel! Wow! Vintage. This thing'd be worth a good deal of cash if it weren't for the…you know…in the front seat."

"They were pretty lousy cars," B.A. peered down at what he could see of the car and confirmed its make and model. "Wow…an Edsel septic tank. Prob'ly the only one in the entire Southwest."

"Not as bad as a Pinto," Face nodded. "I had one, when I was in college. It finally just…exploded. That was really the only way to find your Pinto in a parking lot, actually. Just look around, listen for the explosion, and 'heigh-ho, there's the car!' and then you had to own up to the fact that you even owned it. Yech…not even Yugos were as bad as Pintos."

B.A. and Murdock sniggered and huffed, covering their faces with their handkerchiefs. Maddie only had her hand for coverage and her eyes filled with tears.

"I had a Pontiac once," Hannibal informed them all, sounding remarkably blasé in spite of the stench. "Beautiful car. But it was a lemon. Finally, one day, I got so damned mad at it that I took a ball-peen hammer to it and just left it on the side of a road, somewhere in Minnesota. Six miles of walking through the snow didn't bother me a bit, all things considered. Maybe it's a septic tank now. Serves it right."

"An _Edsel_?" Maddie gasped, after making sure Murdock wasn't actually dead – he had stretched out in the leaves and had his eyes closed. She knelt down beside him and touched his forehead. "My great-grandfather buried an _Edsel_ and used it as a…" She shook her head, bewildered. "I heard tales of his loathing for cars, actually. He was still riding a horse into town before he died."

"How're we gonna get rid of this thing?" Hannibal asked, his composure returning to him, in spite of the wind having turned and bringing the odor to him full force. All of the men, and Maddie, moved upwind after she helped Murdock to his feet.

"My cousin Leon will bring a backhoe and a flatbed trailer," she said. "Y'all can haul it out to the dump."

"I'm not sure the dump'd take it," Face said seriously. "B.A., you know how to operate one of those things, right?"

"Yeah, I do," he nodded. Murdock, on his feet and only swaying a little, finally put his hands on his hips and started to show some of his usual spirit again. Face would have shook hands with Maddie, but he was covered with mud and God only knew what else, so he only flashed her a white grin through his mud-splattered face.

"Heya, Good Rum," he said. "How's it shakin'?"

"Only thing shaking now is my stomach…that's just awful. I had no idea…I'm so sorry guys, it…"

"How could you have known?" Hannibal shrugged. "We've seen worse. Much worse. Although, I'll grant, this is pretty much the worst…er…plumbing job I've ever seen."

"No it ain't. Remember Calcutta?" Murdock said. He realized he was shirtless and covered with mud as well. In fact, all four men looked like they were part of a traveling minstrel show.

Hannibal snickered. "Yes, but that also involved cows and some members of the Taliban…we handled that with a plum."

"You mean 'aplomb'." Maddie corrected.

"No, he means a _plum_," Murdock nodded gravely. "Seriously, baby, you don't want to know. I still don't understand it."

"I'm sure I wouldn't, either. Listen, I've been sent here to invite y'all to supper tonight. We're having roast turkey, dressing and all the fixings. My brothers are back from their hunting trip and brought _three_ huge turkeys. Seriously – those birds could do a smackdown on Rodan. I spent the morning cleaning the horrible things, and next I've got to help set up a quilt exhibition at the fair." She shuddered. "Mainly, they want to meet my boyfr-…uh…Murdock here, and all of you, of course. They've never met four federal fugitives before. They've been saying it all day – 'four federal fugitives'. A real tongue twister." She nodded to the muddy Captain, who was glad for the mud now, because it was covering his burning cheeks.

"Stuffing?" B.A. said, looking hopeful. "Cornbread stuffing, you mean?" At that, Face's eyes lit up. Murdock had introduced him to Southern-style turkey and dressing years ago and ever since then, Christmas and Thanksgiving found him happy and comatose after inhaling Murdock's turkey and dressing.

"What other kind is there?" Maddie laughed.

"None of your brothers are in law enforcement, are they?" Hannibal asked her warily.

"Well…" Maddie frowned. "They were all Army. And they all believe you're innocent. In fact, they're all great admirers of the A-Team."

"Sounds good enough for me. Will there be giblet gravy?" Face asked eagerly.

* * *

Maddie was eager to get a few minutes alone with Murdock, and as soon as the other three men went into the house for a water break, she cornered him before he was able to break for the back porch. She snatched out her cell phone, called her cousin Leon, and held up her hand to the nervous captain before he could even take a step. "Leon? Yes, this is Maddie. I SAID THIS IS MADDIE! YES! YOUR COUSIN!" She smiled at Murdock. "Sorry. He's a little hard of hearing…WE'VE DUG UP THE OLD SEPTIC TANK AT SWALE HOUSE! I SAID WE'VE DUG UP THE SEPT-…WE'VE DUG UP THE CRAPPER AT SWALE HOUSE! RIGHT! CAN YOU BRING THE BACKHOE AND THE FLATBED? WHAT? WHAT DOES LAKE TAHOE AND A FLATHEAD HAVE TO DO-…YES, YES, THE _BACKHOE_. BRING THEM _BOTH_! Geesh, I think I broke my spleen. I never yelled this much in the Army." She finally signed off with Leon and turned back Murdock.

"Hi," he finally managed.

"Hi. So your nervousness has little to do with an Edsel bog and more to do with my…uh…'state'?"

"Your…state. Your…oh, right. Your _state_. Exactly. I also may have said something to the guys about…that. I'm sorry…I mean, I'm…I was pretty…I'm still kinda…"

She sighed and shook her head, only mildly exasperated with him. "I'm not surprised to hear that, but I'm hardly ashamed and I'm not mad about it."

He sighed with relief. "Right. Nothing to be ashamed of, and for God's sake, what the hell am I supposed to…"

A shot rang out just then, and Murdock dove for cover, back into the pile of leaves. Maddie remained standing, her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. He crawled toward her, yelling for her to get down, but she only started walking toward the gunfire, an exasperated look on her face.

"Maddie!" he screamed. "What are you _doing_?"

"My idiot brother is shooting doves!" she snapped. "Harry! What in the name of Mother Dixie are you doing? There's people about!" She glanced back at Murdock, and thought about telling her brother that James had some _trauma _issues going on, but decided against it.

"But there was a dove up there!" a voice yelled back. "Big white-winged sucker. Woulda got her, too, if your boyfriend hadn't started yellin'." Colonel Henry 'Harry' Morgan climbed down from a deerstand concealed in the bushes by the creek and sauntered over, cradling a rifle over his arm and grinning. He was six-feet four inches and two-hundred twenty pounds of muscle and good humor, and he greeted his sister with a hug. He looked down at Murdock, who was still lying in the leaves, hands up.

Hannibal, B.A. and Face all came scrambling out of Swale House then, ready for a gunfight, armed to the teeth and still rather muddy. But they all paused when Harry waved at them in a friendly manner. Hannibal looked stunned to see him and stepped forward. "Harry? Harry Morgan?"

"Yup. Heya, Hannibal. How ya doin'?"

"I'm…uh…good. And how are you? I had no idea you and Maddie were related. Oh, and by the way, would you like a spot of tea before you _kill us all_?"

"Nah. Just shootin' doves. We got too many 'round here, see. Dove season'll be over next week, and then it's bow season – do any huntin'?"

"Only Taliban," Hannibal nodded. He looked down at Murdock, who was slowly getting back to his feet.

"I've shot and field-dressed a few of them myself." Harry grinned and clapped Hannibal on the shoulder. "Good to see you, man. Hey, I didn't mean to freak out…what's your name again?"

"Murdock," the captain said, slowly getting to his feet. "Captain James Murdock. Second time I've had to thrown myself down today!"

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it, bud. I'm a crack shot. Never woulda hit ya 'less I was aimin' to." Colonel Morgan nodded, exchanged pleasantries and saluted before tromping back across the swale toward the hotel. Murdock turned to Maddie.

"Your eldest brother?"

"Yep. I've got six of 'em."

"Wow. Your mom doesn't look very tired…"

"She's high-energy. She'd have a baby and the weight would just melt off. High metabolism. Extremely annoying, let me tell ya." Maddie shook her head and smiled warmly at Murdock, who smiled back, oblivious to his three friends standing there, still holding pistols and watching them with interest. "All the women in my family are like that, actually. Fertile and _energetic_."

Finally, a slightly embarrassed Hannibal cleared his throat and broke them out of their goofy stares. Murdock shuffled his feet nervously and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the leaf pile and turning pink. "Oh. Right. Well, I came over 'cause I need to talk to James for a moment…if y'all don't mind."

"Well, actually, we have a lot of…" B.A. started.

"Shut up, Sergeant," Hannibal said, nudging the large Ranger back toward the house. "If there's one thing an Edsel-cum-septic tank can do, it's _wait_." He saluted Murdock and Maddie, grinned and herded Face and B.A. back to the house.

* * *

They sat down on a stone bench in the little cemetery in the swale. "So…uh…what did you want to talk about?" he asked her, chewing on his lip.

Maddie took a deep breath. "Well, this is a big thing now, James. I'm introducing you to my family. Be aware that they really didn't like Ellis much and when he left me at the altar, they were the ones who insisted on going ahead and throwing a party a few days later to celebrate…on Ellis's dime, mind you. Of course, I also had two plane tickets to Bermuda and took my mother with me. Imagine going to Bermuda on your honeymoon…with your mother. But anyway…I think they'll really like you. Harry already seems to, and this is a guy who yells at people for a living."

"Oh. Right."

"And after supper tonight, maybe you could come over to my…uh…house and we could…talk."

"Talk?" He stared at her as though he'd never heard the word before.

"Yes. _Talk_."

"Right. Yes. That'd be good."

"And then we'll play nude Twister."

"Excellent!" He nodded, smiling happily, before he realized what she'd just said. "Ah…huh? What?"

"See ya, James." She stood up and then bent down, hands on his shoulders, and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before dashing away, leaving him sitting there, wide-eyed, excited and aroused. He watched her walk, appreciating her curves and her excellent posture, among other things, and finally got up to head back to the house. But he forgot where he was going and fell into the hole, landing on the Edsel/septic tank.

"That's the _third_ time!" he yelled.

* * *

"Should we wear tuxes?" Face asked.

"This isn't _Brideshead Revisited_, Face. This is central Texas, where the men are strong and the women are _damn_ good-looking and they have some clue of what's to be done with sage. Murdock, are you ready yet?" Hannibal called up the stairs. The pilot appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing jeans, a clean ribbed shirt and a nervous expression.

Face pulled on a sports jacket and checked himself out in the hall mirror. "Oh, by the way, B.A., I don't blame you for eating toast and jelly at night, but you might at least clean up the mess. Last thing we need 'round here is _roaches_."

"Huh?" B.A. frowned, wondering how a bunch of well-off white folks would accept a guy with a Mohawk. Colonel Morgan hadn't seemed overly excited about it, but then again, he had been carrying a pistol at the time and Morgan may have had other things on his mind. "I didn't eat no toast and jelly last night."

"You didn't?"

B.A. shook his head. "Nope."

"Murdock wasn't here. Hannibal, you didn't…I didn't…so who was eatin' the…"

"Can we just _go_?" Murdock snapped, and hustled them all out the front door. He looked back down the hall to the dining room and frowned. "Eat as much of the toast and jelly as you like, guys, but clean it up, all right?" he told the ghosts, and pulled the door shut, locking it carefully. The four men scrabbled down the steps and down the brick walkway, bumping into each other as they made their way across the field to the hotel, eager for a free meal.


End file.
